34816	----	MAES-HOWE _Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh._ [Illustration: PLATE I. GENERAL VIEW OF MAESHOWE.] NOTICE OF RUNIC INSCRIPTIONS DISCOVERED DURING RECENT EXCAVATIONS IN THE ORKNEYS MADE BY JAMES FARRER, M.P. PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION 1862 CONTENTS. PAGE PREFACE ix DESCRIPTION OF MAES-HOWE 11 THE EXCAVATION OF MAES-HOWE 13 BARROWS AT BOOKAN 16 LARGE BARROW CONTAINING GRAVES 17 MOUNDS AT STENNES 18 BARROW AT TENSTONE 19 APPENDIX 21 ORIGIN OF MAES-HOWE, AND DATE OF INSCRIPTIONS 21 READINGS OF INSCRIPTIONS 25 LIST OF PLATES. I. General View of Maes-Howe from the N. E. TO FACE TITLE PAGE II. Interior View of Maes-Howe " PAGE 15 III. General Plan and Section of Maes-Howe " 20 IV. Plan of Central Chamber, Passages, and Cells " 20 V. Sections of East and West Sides of Chamber " 20 VI. Sections of North and South Sides of Chamber and Passage " 20 _The numbers on Plates V. and VI. show the situation of the slabs containing the Runic Inscriptions, which are numbered accordingly._ VII. Inscriptions Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 " 40 VIII. Do. Nos. 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 " 40 IX. Do. Nos. 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 " 40 X. Do. Nos. 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26 " 40 XI. Do. Nos. 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 " 40 [_The Inscriptions are drawn on a scale of 2 inches to one foot._] PREFACE. As the following pages are intended only for private circulation among friends and acquaintances, and for presentation to those few Public Societies to whom such a subject may be interesting, it is hardly necessary to offer any apology for the many imperfections in the description of Maes-howe, which may doubtless be pointed out, and for the brief and cursory manner in which the subject is handled. I desire only to give a plain statement of facts, in the hope that attention may be drawn to this interesting discovery, and possibly some further impetus given to the elucidation of Runic literature. I have received from the learned professors, whose translations are given, much valuable information, of which, however, I can only partially avail myself, in consequence of my very imperfect acquaintance with Runology. I may add, that every possible care has been taken to ensure accuracy in the drawings. These and the ground plans were made by Mr. Gibb of Aberdeen--of whose care and accuracy in the drawings of ancient monuments Mr. Stuart has spoken so strongly in his "Sculptured Stones of Scotland," printed for the Spalding Club. The Runes were mostly drawn by my friend Mr. George Petrie of Kirkwall, and the drawings afterwards compared by Mr. Gibb with the originals in the building of Maes-Howe. Two separate sets of casts were made for me by Mr. Henry Laing of Edinburgh (one of which is now in the National Museum of the Antiquaries of Scotland, Edinburgh, and the other in the Museum of the Royal Northern Society of Antiquaries at Copenhagen.) Nothing could exceed the pains taken by Mr. Petrie and Mr. Gibb; and the drawings made by Mr. Gibb were on two occasions collated by him with the casts in Edinburgh, so that I have every reason to believe that they are as perfect representations of the original writings on the walls of Maes-Howe as can be hoped for, and not the less so that the gentlemen who made the drawings and collations were unacquainted with Runes. I have confined myself to the interpretations furnished by the three eminent northern antiquaries who have undertaken the task of deciphering these rude inscriptions, feeling assured that the high reputation which they enjoy is a sufficient guarantee for the accuracy of their translations. In concluding these few remarks I am anxious to bear testimony to the valuable assistance I have received from my friend Mr. John Stuart, Secretary of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, to whom in reality I am chiefly indebted for the discovery of Maes-Howe, since I owe to his urgent suggestion that the great circle of Stennes, and the tumuli around it, had not been sufficiently examined, the successful excavation of this ancient "howe." It is also highly satisfactory to me to know that Mr. Balfour of Balfour and Trenabie, on whose property this interesting relic of antiquity is situated, has taken the necessary steps to ensure its preservation--a precaution, unfortunately, too often neglected under similar circumstances. JAMES FARRER. INGLEBOROUGH, YORKSHIRE, JUNE 1862. MAES-HOWE. Early in the month of July 1861 I was enabled, by the kind permission of my friend David Balfour, Esq. of Balfour and Trenaby, to put in execution a scheme long contemplated, but from various circumstances unavoidably delayed, the excavation of some of the great tumuli in the neighbourhood of the Stones of Stennes, or Ring of Brogar. I had in the year 1854 partially explored one of considerable size on the east side of the great circle of stones, which stands on the west shore of the Loch of Harray. No discovery, however, of any importance was then made. Some days were devoted to excavations close to Stennes, to which allusion will afterwards be made, but as several gentlemen of well-known antiquarian reputation from Edinburgh and Aberdeen were expected, and as I was desirous of having the benefit of their experience and advice, I determined at once to commence operations on the great tumulus of Maes-howe, the subject of this notice. My attention had been particularly called to this tumulus by Mr. Balfour, whose decided opinion that a careful examination might result in some important discovery, afforded me great encouragement, as I well knew that he had for many years taken considerable interest in Orkney antiquities, and his opinion that Maes-howe was a sepulchral chamber, appeared to be confirmed by local traditions.[1] On the afternoon of Saturday the 6th of July, therefore, guided by the experience of Mr. George Petrie, and assisted by the professional knowledge of Mr. Wilson, road contractor, ground was broken on the west side of Maes-howe, and on the same evening, Mr. John Stuart and Mr. Joseph Robertson of Edinburgh, with Colonel Forbes Leslie of Rothie, and Mr. James Hay Chalmers of Aberdeen, arrived by the Prince Consort steamship. As it was anticipated that a couple of days would suffice to make a large opening in the tumulus, arrangements were made for meeting there on the 10th of July. Before proceeding with the description of what followed, it may not be out of place to give a short account of the Stones of Stennes, as described by Lieutenant Thomas in a work published by him in 1851:-- "The Great Circle of Stennes, or Ring of Brogar, is a deeply entrenched circular space containing almost two acres and a half of superficies, of which the diameter is 366 feet. Around the circumference of the area, but about thirteen feet within the trench, are the erect stones, standing at an average distance of eighteen feet apart. They are totally unhewn, and vary considerably in form and size. The highest stone was found to be 13-9 feet above the surface, and judging from some others which have fallen, it is sunk about eighteen inches in the ground. The smallest stone is less than six feet, but the average height is from eight to ten. The breadth varies from 2-6 to 7-9 feet, but the average may be stated at about 5 feet, and the thickness about 1 foot--all of the old red sandstone formation. The trench round the area is in good preservation. The edge of the bank is still sharply defined, as well as the two foot-banks or entrances, which are placed exactly opposite to each other. They have no relation to the true or magnetic meridian, but are parallel to the general direction of the neck of land on which the circle is placed. The trench is 29 feet in breadth, and about 6 in depth, and the entrances are formed by narrow earth-banks across the fosse. The surface of the enclosed area has an average inclination to the eastward. It is highest on the north-west quarter, and the extreme difference of level is estimated to be from 6 to 7 feet. The trench has the same inclination, and therefore could never be designed to hold water." THE EXCAVATION OF MAES-HOWE. On Monday the 8th of July, a number of men under the superintendance of Alexander Johnson, Mr. Wilson's foreman--a most active and intelligent fellow--proceeded with the work that had been commenced on the previous Saturday, and before evening discovered a passage on the west side, which afterwards proved to be the entrance into the interior of the tumulus. This passage was covered over with large flag-stones, one of which having been with some difficulty upraised, we effected an entrance, but found a considerable accumulation of earth and stones, which was removed on the following day, and Mr. Wilson, after careful examination, in which his engineering experience was of the highest importance, agreed to my suggestion that the excavation should be proceeded with from the centre of the hillock. I am chiefly indebted to my friend Mr. George Petrie for the following measurements, which I believe will be found to be substantially correct:-- The tumulus is about 92 feet in diameter, 36 feet high, and about 300 feet in circumference at the base. It is surrounded by a trench 40 feet wide, and varying in depth from 4 to 8 feet. It is situated on the north side of the new road leading to Stromness from Kirkwall, being about 6 miles from the former, and 9 from the latter place. It is about 200 yards distant from the road, and a mile and a half from the Stones of Stennes. It has undoubtedly been entered at some remote period, probably by the Northmen, who, as is well known, were not deterred by feelings either of religion or superstition, from opening and ransacking any place likely to repay them for their trouble. Whether they were the first to break into the building, or whether they found it in a state of comparative ruin, the natural result of great antiquity, can now only be matter of conjecture. It is obvious that little respect has been paid to the dead, since the stones used for closing up the cells, in which it is supposed they were deposited, were found torn out and buried in the mass of ruins filling up the interior of the chamber to which these cells are attached. The passage leading to the central chamber is 2 feet 4 inches wide at its mouth, and appears to have been the same in height, but the covering stones had been removed, or had fallen in for about 22-1/2 feet. The passage then increases in dimensions to 3-1/4 feet in width, and 4 feet 4 inches in height, and continues for 26 feet, when it is again narrowed by two upright stone slabs to 2 feet 5 inches. These slabs are each 2 feet 4 inches broad, and immediately beyond them the passage extends 2 feet 10 inches, and then opens into the central chamber. Its dimensions from the slabs to its opening into the chamber are 3 feet 4 inches wide, and 4 feet 8 inches high. At the commencement of the passage there is a triangular recess in the wall about 2 feet deep, and 3-1/2 in height and width, in front and opposite to it in the passage, a stone of corresponding shape and dimensions, suggesting the idea that it might have been used to close the passage, and that it was pushed back into the recess in the wall when admission into the chamber was desired. From this recess to the chamber, the sides of the passage, the floor and roof, are formed by four immense slabs of flagstone; three of these stones are broken, and the fourth slightly cracked. After a few days' labour the whole of the rubbish filling the chamber was removed, but long ere this was accomplished, the keen eye of Mr. Joseph Robertson discovered the first of the Runic inscriptions. They were high up on the walls of the building, smaller and less distinctly drawn than many that were afterwards discovered, but the important fact of the existence of Runic inscriptions in Orkney, where none had hitherto been found, was at once established. [Illustration: PLATE II. INTERIOR VIEW OF MAESHOWE.] The chamber when cleared out proved to be about 15 feet square on the level of the floor, and 13 feet in height, to the top of the present walls. Immediately opposite to the passage is an opening in the wall 3 feet from the floor. This is the entrance to a cell or small chamber in the wall, 5 feet 8 inches long, 4-1/2 feet wide, and 3-1/2 high. A large flagstone is laid as a raised floor between the entrance and the inner end of the chamber. The entrance is 2 feet wide, 2-1/2 high, and 22-1/2 inches long. On the two opposite walls of the chamber are similar openings in the walls. The one on the right is 2-1/2 feet wide, 2 feet 9 inches high, and 1 foot 8 inches long. It gives admission to a cell 6 feet 10 inches long, 4 feet 7 inches wide, 3-1/2 feet high, and has a raised flagstone floor, as in the other chamber. The opening on the left is 2-1/4 feet wide, 2-1/2 high, and 1-3/4 long, and about 3 feet above the floor of the chamber. The cell of which this is the entrance is 5 feet 7 inches long, 4 feet 8 inches wide, and 3 feet 4 inches high. It has no raised floor like the two other cells. The roofs, floors, and back walls of the cells are each formed by a single slab of stone, and stones corresponding in size and shape to the openings in the walls were found on the floor in front of them. The natural inference is that they were originally the seals of the chambers in which the honoured dead reposed. The four walls of the central chamber converge towards the top by the successive projection of each stone or flag, commencing about 6 feet from the level of the floor, as is usually found to be the style of building, both in the Pict's houses or burghs, and in the still more primitive subterranean dwellings known as Weems. The top of the chamber would thus necessarily be of small dimensions, and the aperture easily closed by one large flagstone. This top, or cover stone, together with a considerable portion of the upper part of the walls, has been thrown down, and the highest part of the existing walls is only about 13 feet from the level of the floor. At that point, the opposite walls have approached to within 10 feet of each other, so that the chamber is now 15 feet square at the floor, and 10 feet at the top of the walls, in their present condition. Large quantities of earth had been piled up over the building when completed. In each angle of the central chamber stands a large buttress, doubtless intended to strengthen the walls, and support them under the pressure of their own weight, and that of the mass of earth with which the whole was covered. These buttresses vary somewhat in dimensions, but they are on an average about 3 feet square at the base, and from 9 to 10 feet high, with the exception of one which is only 8 feet high. In each buttress one side is formed by a single slab. The walls of the chamber are built with large stones, which generally extend the whole length of the wall. No lime or mortar of any kind has been used. The entire number of Runic characters may be about 935, exclusive of scribbles and many doubtful marks. The monograms and bind-runes, or connected consonants, are considered as forming one letter. There are also some marks which may have been intended to represent a horse and an otter with a fish in its mouth; also, a winged dragon and a worm knot, which last has much the appearance of one of the great Saurians. The two hind legs are very plainly defined. BARROWS AT BOOKAN. This barrow is in the parish of Sandwick, but so near to Stennes that it may have been regarded as connected with the great circle. It is on the property of Mr. Watt of Skail, in the West Mainland. It was opened on the 6th of July, and proved to be a collection of kists or graves. At the north end of the central kist, a flint lance head, and several fragments of clay vessels or urns, were found, together with a lump of heavy metal, supposed to be Manganese, but no bones. In some of the other kists were human remains in a very decayed state, two jaw bones being the most perfect. These were much distorted. Mr. Petrie gives me the following measurements:--The Barrow is about 44 feet in diameter, and about 6 feet high. About 11 feet within the outer margin of the base of the barrow is a circular wall or facing about 1 foot high. From the south side of this wall a low passage, 6 feet 3 inches long, 21 inches in height, and the same in width, leads to a chamber or kist 7 feet long and 4-1/2 wide. At the north end of this there was another kist 4 feet 8 inches long, and 3 feet wide. On the east side there was one 4 feet 8 inches long, and 2 feet 9 inches wide; and on the west side two kists, both of which were of the same length as that on the east side, and both were 3 feet in width. They were all about 2 feet 8 inches deep. The foundation of the surrounding wall or facing was considerably above the level of the floors of the kists. LARGE BARROW CONTAINING GRAVES. The excavation of this barrow was commenced on the 17th of July 1854. It was found to contain graves, in one of which was an urn with a quantity of burnt bones and ashes. It was formed out of a micaceous stone not belonging to Orkney. It was 1 foot 9 inches in diameter, about 18 inches deep, and 5 feet 10 inches in circumference, the rim, which projected on the outside all round, was an inch and a half wide, the kist in which it was deposited was 2 feet and a half in length, and 2 feet in width, but the side stones which protected the kist were nearly 6 feet in length, and at the angles, and on the outside of the kist were quantities of small rolled pebbles and gravel, probably intended to assist in draining off water. Clay was placed inside the kist at the different angles; the flags were about an inch and a half thick, but much decayed; the cover stone was of an irregular shape, about 4 feet long and 2-1/2 wide; the urn rested upon the corners of four flags; it was partly decayed, and could not be removed till after an interval of two days, when I succeeded in raising it. It is now in the Museum of the Society of Antiquaries at Edinburgh, to whom I presented it, with the consent of Mr. Balfour. In another grave within the same barrow was found a small urn composed of baked clay and gravel, nearly filled with soil, and only one or two small pieces of bone. It was brought to Kirkwall, but could not be preserved, in consequence of its decayed condition. It was 5 inches in diameter, 17 in circumference, and 5 deep. The kist was 2 feet 9-1/2 inches long, and 1 foot 7 inches wide. The bones, in this instance, had not been placed in the urn, but were laid on a flagstone in the north-west angle of the kist. It is not improbable that further investigation might lead to the discovery of other interments within the same barrow, since neither of those before described were in the centre of the tumulus, and several instances have occurred where they have been found near the outside. MOUNDS AT STENNES. In the year 1854, I had partially opened one of the largest of these hillocks, but further examination last July did not encourage the belief that it was sepulchral. I was however advised to examine one on the west side of the Stones of Stennes, and directly opposite to the one previously mentioned. In both of them the workmen penetrated to a depth of 22 feet, and over an area of 9 square feet in the one on the west side of the great circle, but there was no appearance of any kind of building. The material of which these hillocks are composed is precisely the same as that which still exists within the circle of stones, and I infer that when the moat surrounding the circle was excavated, advantage was taken of the circumstance to raise these hillocks. Fragments of animal, but no human bones, were found in each, but in both instances near the top. Building stones are found at the base of both hillocks, but always embedded in the soil; those which were easy of removal having no doubt been long since taken away by the country people. Sections were made at right angles in both of the hillocks, and it was clearly ascertained that no building of any size could be concealed within. TENSTONE. In this barrow, which is in the parish of Sandwick, but adjoining Stennes, I found the remains of two stone urns. The barrow had been evidently previously opened. There was reason to believe that these urns had been in separate kists. They were formed out of a micaceous stone, but the attempt to unite the fragments was quite hopeless. A few small pieces of human bone were found. The cover and sidestones of the kists remained in the grave. [Illustration: PLATE III.] [Illustration: PLATE IV. GROUND PLAN OF CENTRE CHAMBER &c.] [Illustration: PLATE V.] [Illustration: PLATE VI.] APPENDIX. [Sidenote: _Origin of Maes-Howe._] It is proposed now to inquire into the origin of Maes-Howe, at what time, and for what purpose it was constructed, and who were the people whose names and writings are found engraved on its walls. I am indebted to the learned Professors who have furnished me with their translation of the inscriptions, for the information which is embodied in the following pages. It is much to be regretted that the inscriptions are so indefinite, and frequently so much defaced. Moreover, Nos. 19 and 20 alone make any allusion to the erection of Maes-Howe. Professor Rafn believes that it was a sorcery hall for Lodbrok,[2] a female magician, Professor Munch, that it was the burial-place of a woman of the same name, while Professor Stephens, who expresses no opinion as to the time when the building was raised, considers the writings which speak of Lodbrok's sons, as indicative of its having been used in early times by the celebrated Scandinavian Vikings of that name, as a fortress and place of retreat. The low and narrow cells, as well as the low passage leading to the interior, fully justify the opinion that it was undoubtedly at one time a place of burial. The massive stones forming the floor and side walls of the passage, and also those used in the inside to support the buttresses, are similar in character to the neighbouring circle of stones at Stennes. The architecture also is most primitive, and it is evident that the whole work must have been one requiring much time and labour. The present form of the mound does not favour the idea that it was _originally_ a platform, and used for the performance of religious rites, though this would not be inconsistent with the idea that it had been adopted to that purpose at some remote period, having been previously used as a place of interment. If we find difficulty in determining the period when the mound was first raised, almost equal difficulty arises in assigning to any fixed time the engraving of the numerous inscriptions. Many of them are no doubt to be attributed to the Crusaders, but there are others of probably far earlier date than the twelfth century, when, as stated by Professor Munch, the Orkney Jarl, Ragnvald, about the year 1152-3, organized his naval expedition to the Holy Land. That the writings have been engraved at intervals during a long period of time--perhaps, as suggested by Professor Stephens, during the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries, or even later--is sufficiently obvious. Some of the stones have the words very faintly and imperfectly engraved, while in others the lines are sharply and distinctly cut. The absence of division between the letters (for the _dots_ are very uncertain in their position, and are probably for the most part accidental) sufficiently accounts for the difference of reading, in several of the inscriptions. The variety of type--there being no fewer than 18 different forms of A, many of them it is true, _like_, but still _different_; to say nothing of Diphthongs, the Bind-runes, or consonants and vowels connected, as [rune] (æ) or [rune] (a) and [rune] (k) [rune] or (a) and ([rune]) forming AK, Ar, and others of a similar nature--necessarily renders the task of translation, more especially when the letters are indistinct and perhaps unfinished, one of difficulty and uncertainty. Very few of the _old_ Northern letters are found. The "Dragon" and "Worm Knot" are still perfectly distinct, and have evidently been carved by superior artists. With the exception of two stones--one of which is shewn in the drawing of the interior of the tumulus, and on which four letters are carved--none have been found bearing any inscription amongst the debris, nor is there any reason to suppose that stones bearing inscriptions have been removed from the walls. The two stones before alluded to had evidently been used to close up the cells, and lay on the basement floor just below the entrances to the cells from which they had been rudely torn. In one of the cells, that on the left side of the chamber, a few letters were indistinctly written. By accident they were forgotten, and no casts were taken of them. It is not easy to account for the various elevations at which the carvings were made. Those on the higher parts could not have been reached by persons standing at the bottom, but they might have been inscribed after the roof had been broken in, and when the building was in a partially ruined state. Many of the marks, possibly some of the "scratches" or "scribbles" to which no importance is attached, and perhaps even some of the doubtful letters, may be the result of violence used in breaking in the roof. Most of the Runes belong to the Norwegian division of the Scandinavian class, and have nothing to do with the Gothic or older alphabet, but, in the opinion of Professor Munch, they exhibit some archaicisms which prevent their being placed in the latest times of the Norwegian class; they must therefore be referred to about A. D. 1150. [Sidenote: _Date of Inscriptions._] The meaning of the word Maes-Howe is very obscure. It is, as Professor Munch remarks, not easy to explain. The haugr, pronounced how, is plain enough; the word Maes might have been derived from Meitis, pronounced almost like Meiss, Meitir, gen. Meiris, which was the name of a fabulous sea king, and was afterwards used to denominate any mighty king or warrior. Meiris-haugr therefore might have been synonymous with the how, or tumulus of this fabulous sea king. This opinion of Professor Munch's is at all events not unlikely to be correct; certainly local tradition has always ascribed a sepulchral character to the mound. Professor Rafn thinks that the word is derived from Mar,[3] the name of a man, and that valuable information might be obtained if it were found possible to read with a greater degree of accuracy the Runes Nos. 6 and 7, since Orki and Mar are named in these inscriptions, and it is to be inferred that Mar Orkason had engraved some of these Runes. Nos. 13 and 20 are justly attributed to the times of the Crusaders,[4] but many of the other inscriptions must have been engraved by different persons at different times. Professor Stephens believes that most of them are of a much earlier date than the twelfth century, and this opinion is much strengthened by the worn appearance of some of the Runes, and the uncertain character of others. Some of the proper names cannot be read as certainly correct, owing to the marks and abrasures in the stones. Two of them, Orki and Oframr, are supposed to be hitherto quite unknown, and may therefore perhaps be referred to the earlier inhabitants of the How, whilst Gawkr and Trandill both belong to an historical person in Iceland. The other names are common, and known from Runic inscriptions, as well as from ancient manuscripts and documents. The name Ingibiorg, occurs several times in the Orkneyinga Saga, and was by no means an uncommon name in Orkney. Ingibiorg, the widow of earl Thorfinn (who died in 1064) afterwards married Malcolm, king of Scotland; but it cannot be safely asserted that this was the Ingibiorg mentioned in No. 8. On the whole, it seems not unreasonable to suppose that all the names found inscribed on the walls may belong to persons who lived since the construction of the barrow, and that we have as yet no certain evidence to justify us in determining either the name of the builder, or the period when the tumulus was first erected. Most of the inscriptions are in the subjoined form of the later Runic alphabet, or the "Norwegian division of the Scandinavian Runes" as described by Professor Munch. The dots inside the B, and G, do not occur here, and the [rune] (y) is not often used. [Illustration: Alphabet] In the earlier or "Gothic" Alphabet, many of the letters are quite different. READINGS OF THE INSCRIPTIONS BY PROFESSORS STEPHENS, MUNCH, RAFN. [Sidenote: _Plate VII._] No. I. THATIR VIKINKR . . . A, KOM, VTIR, HIR, TIL. _Thatir the Viking, came here to weary--(perhaps from the sea, or from battle.)_ The inscription is incomplete, several letters being obliterated. The a in the Bind-rune Ak is probably the termination of the word Fra, from.--Professor STEPHENS. THATIR VIKINKR . . . KOMUTIRHIRTIL. _That which the Wicing . . . came outerly here to._ This is only a fragment, some of the letters being obliterated. It may mean that a pirate or Wicing had been at the tumulus and found something, or that some person had found what the Wicing had left. It may however be merely the name of some person, as Vikingr is sometimes used as a Christian name.--Professor MUNCH. THAT IR VIKINGR . . . A KOM UT IRHIRTIL. _This is a Viking . . . come out is hereto._ The inscription is incomplete. Vikingr may be the name of a man.--Professor RAFN. No. II. MOLFR KOLBAINSSONR RAEIST RUNA THESA GHAUT. _Molf Kolbainsson carved these Runes to Gaut._ Probably a memorial to a comrade who had fallen in battle.--Professor STEPHENS. THOLFR KOLBEINSSONR RAEIST RUNAR THESA. _Tholf Colbanesson engraved these Runes._ The last word, read as haua, seems superfluous. It is possible there may have been some mis-spelling, the first [rune] (a) in haua may have been an [rune] (e) the dot having been a little prolonged, [rune] and the [rune] (u or v) may have been intended for an R, the word would then read hér á, hereon, or on this stone.--Professor MUNCH. THOLFR KOLBEINSSONR REIST RUNAR THESSAR HATT. _Tholf Kolbeinsson carved these Runes on High._--Professor RAFN. (_Note._--Nos. 1 and 2 are both engraved on the upper part of the building.--J. F.) No. III. BRA HOH THANA. _Bra hewed this._ The third letter [rune] (a) is very rare, and is an indication of the great antiquity of the inscription. The word hew is often used for carve or write.--Professor STEPHENS. BRE HOH THENA, _or_, BRAUT HAUG THENNA. _Broke this tumulus._ The inscription seems to be incomplete, some words may have been engraved on another stone and lost.--Professor MUNCH. (_Note._--The present state of the stone hardly justifies this supposition.--J. F.) BRE H�H THENA, BRE HOH THENNA. Professor Rafn does not translate this. He remarks that what precedes is "incomplete and undecipherable." No. IV. VEMUNTR RAEIST. _Vemunt carved._--Professor STEPHENS. VEMUNTR RAEIST. _Wemund engraved (these Runes)._--Professor MUNCH. VIMUNDR RAEIST. _Vemund carved (the Runes)._--Professor RAFN. No. V. F, U, Th, O, R, K, H, N, I, A, S, T, B, M, L, Y. This is the Scandinavian Runic Futhork, or Alphabet. The form of the second letter is very rare, the last three are also very unusual, and may be considered as an indication that the building had been for a long period of time in the hands of many people. It was the custom to write the Alphabet wherever it was most likely to meet the eye, and a passing visitor, or treasure seeker, would have hardly taken so much trouble.--Professor STEPHENS. F, U, Th, O, R, K, H, N, I, A, S, T, B, U, L, U. The Runic Alphabet--Some of the letters here have been placed out of their proper order, owing probably to carelessness on the part of the writer. Time has also produced its effects upon the letters, the [rune] is clearly [rune], and the long stroke in the third letter [rune] (th) is also accidental.--Professor MUNCH. F U Th O R K H N I A S T B M L R. The common Runic Alphabet.--Professor RAFN. No. VI. ORKASONR, SAGHTHI, A, RUNOM, THAEIM, IR, HAN, RISTU. _Orkason said, in the Runes which he wrote._ No. VII. NUARI KULTURMR, SIKURTHR, IRU, FALNIR, KIAEBIK, UIL SAEGHIAN IR, SO, MAIR. _Orkason said in the Runes which he wrote--Nuari, Kulturmr Sikurthr, Iru, are fallen. Kiaebik will say ye (tell you) so more._ These two inscriptions must be taken together; they have been written at the same time, and by the same person. It is probably a military message from some battle-field, sent through a trusty officer who is commissioned to make known the details. The word Nuari is very doubtful; this part of the inscription is very indistinct. It becomes more legible advancing from left to right.--Professor STEPHENS. ORKASONR SAGTHI A RUN OM THEIM ER HALIR RISTU. _The son of Orca dictated the Runes which heroes engraved._ There seems to have been some blunder in the writing. If the dot on the right side of the letter [rune] has been the end of a stroke, it would convert the letter into the Bind-rune [rune] (Al.) and if the [rune] were a combination of L and R, the word would then read Halir, that is Men-fellows-heroes. The second part of the inscription, No. 7, is only a fragment--perhaps some part of a verse, but it is doubtful.--Professor MUNCH. ORKASON SAHTHI A RUNUM THAEIM IR HAN RISTI . . . SAETHIAN IR SO MAUR _The resolution which this Mar Orkason mentioned in the Runes he carved._ The two inscriptions are to be read together, but much of No. 7, is very indistinct.--Professor RAFN. [Sidenote: _Plate VIII._] No. VIII. INGIBIORGH, HIN, FARET, LUTIN, HIR, MIGHIL, OFL, ATE. _Ingibiorgh, the fair lady. Many a woman hath fared skinclad (or bent) here, (who) great wealth owned._ Ingibiorgh probably resided here for safety, and, as the word Lutin signifies _bent_, it may refer to the low cells which are within the walls of the How. (_Note._--The entrance also is very low and narrow.) The six Crypt Runes, or secret staves, represent the letters, A. �. R. L. I. K. R., and signify Aalikr or Erling, a proper name, or perhaps the beginning of some sentence.--Professor STEPHENS. INKIBIORH, HIN, FAHRA, �HKIA MORHK, KONA, H�FER, FARET, LUT, IN HIR MIKIL OFLATI. _Ingiburg, the fair widow! Many a woman has wandered stooping in here (although) ever so haughty._ The writer is probably recording the name of some fair woman, who has perhaps slighted him, and then reflects that the women who had been buried here, though ever so haughty, had been curbed by death. Ingibjorg, or Inkibiorh, is a common female name in the north. The other characters in the third line are known as Limouna, or Bough Runes. They were used in the later times of the Runic period, in the same manner as the Irish Ogum, but are not here intelligible. The writer probably intended to represent the chief vowels--A. E. I. O. Y. U. The Runic alphabet was divided into classes; the strokes on the left of the vertical line indicating the class, and those on the right the rune itself. Figures of fishes were occasionally in use, and were known as Fish-runes.--Professor MUNCH. INGIBIORG HIN FAHRA �HKIA A MORHG KONA H�FIR FARIT LUT IN HIR MIHKIL OFLATI. _Ingibiorg, the fair widow, or Ingibiorg the Fair, the widow. Many a rather proud woman did walk here stooping (bent forward), or did walk stooping here in (into)._ The Palm-runes underneath cannot be read in the usual manner; the first, third, and fourth of the runes being a, o, and i; the writer probably intended to give all the vowels, but some of the letters have been obviously miscarved, and have perhaps been altered and defaced at a later period by other persons. In the first of them a cross line has been added to shew that the letter [rune] or (a) is intended.--Professor RAFN. No. IX. THORNY SAERTH . . . HAELGHIS RAEISTO. _The javelin pierceth . . . Haelghis carved._ Haelghis was probably an Englishman or Frislander. The inscription is much worn, and evidently very old. The last letter [rune] is the old northern [rune].--Professor STEPHENS. THORNU SAERTH . . . HAELHI RAEIST R. _Thorny . . . Haelhi engraved._ Thorny is a female name. Saerth is unintelligible; something is wanting here; the last letter R. is clearly the beginning of the word Runar.--Professor MUNCH. THORNY SAERTH . . . HAELHI RAEIST. _Thorny Særd . . . Helge carved._ The word Saerth is of doubtful meaning.--Professor RAFN. [Sidenote: _Plate IX._] No. X. THORER FORMIR, a proper name. or _Thorer Fonkmir._ Thorer, follow me.--Professor STEPHENS. Probably the name of a man: there is a rude figure of a horse engraved.--Professor MUNCH. Thorir Fomir, a name of doubtful import. Fá mèr, perhaps procure me. Thorer, procure me the cross. The great cross underneath may refer to the Crusade. (_Note._--This cross has been apparently engraved at a comparatively late period.)--Professor RAFN. No. XI. RAEIST RUNAR THESAR OFRAMR SIGHURTHERSONR. _Ofram Sigurthson carved these Runes._ Several of the letters at the beginning are obliterated. The crosses may be intended for ornament.--Professor STEPHENS. REIST RUNAR THESSAR UFRAMR SIGURTHARSONR. _Ofram, the son of Siward, engraved these Runes._--Professor MUNCH. RAEIST RUNAR THAESIR OFRAMR SIHURTHARSONR. _Ofram Sigurdson carved these Runes._ The word Oframr, or Uframr, is hardly to be found anywhere else. It signifies "the modest," "the reserved." The seven crosses denote that this man was one of the Crusaders.--Professor RAFN. No. XII. OTAR, FILA, RAEIST, RUNAR THESAR. _Otar Fila carved these runes._--Professor STEPHENS. IOTAR, FILA, REIST RUNAR THESSAR. _Iotar Fila engraved these runes._--Professor MUNCH. IOTA FILA RAEIST RUNAR THISAR. _Iotar Fila carved these runes._ This is an unknown name.--Professor RAFN. No. XIII. THAT, MAN, SAT, IR, EKI�, HE, AT, FEUAR, FORT, ABROT, THRIM NOTOM, UARFI, BROT, FORT, HAELTR, �NTHAEIR. This is to be read from right to left. (The figure at the beginning is probably a mere scratch. J. F.) It reads thus:--That man who sat here in ache (sorrowfully) He at the Fee-Ware (at the treasure-gate--from the treasure-guard) forth a broke, with three comrades from the stronghold broke forth the Hero �nthaeir. This probably announces the escape of a prisoner, perhaps an Englishman, as is indicated by some of the words--That for Sa, He for Han, as examples. He boasts of his escape. He may, however, have intended to record a message.--Professor STEPHENS. No. XIV. JORSALA MEN BURTU HAUK. _Jerusalam Men broke into How._ �hiiminii, a proper name; the second word is too faintly written to be translated; �misris, a proper name. There are some more very indistinct letters; probably they once indicated-- Ireskir Maen . . . Irish Men. The stone exhibits traces of former writings, which renders the new carvings very doubtful.--Professor STEPHENS. THAT MAN SAT . . . �HE AT FEUAR FORT. ABROT THRIM NOTOM VAR FI BROT FORT HAELTR. �N THAEIR (No. XIV.), JORSALAMEN BURTU HAUK THAENA. Professor Munch reads Nos. XIII. and XIV. together. To be read from right to left, and No. XIV. taken in conjunction with it. This does not that (fool!) remember that the treasury was (already) carried away. Three nights was the treasury carried away rather (_i. e._, before) than the Jerusalem travellers broke this tumulus.--Professor MUNCH. THAT MAN SAT ER IGI SAEHI AT FE VAR FOERT ABROT THRIM NOTTOM VAR FE BR�T FOERT HAELDR �N THAEIR IORSALAMEN BURTU HAUG THAENA. It is true indeed, as Inge states, that the goods were carried away during three nights. The goods were carried away before the Ioraslamen broke open this barrow. Many of the other runes cannot be made out; some of the smaller ones are very indistinct.--Professor RAFN. (_Note._--Nos. XIII. and XIV. appear to be read as one inscription by the Professor.--J. F.) [Sidenote: _Plate X._] No. XV. ARNFITHR, MATR, RAEIST RUNAR THAESAR. _Arnfith Mate carved these Runes._ The word Matr may signify "the mighty," or "the greedy."--Professor STEPHENS. ARNFITHR MATR RAEIST RUNAR THAESAR. _Arnfinn Mat (perhaps the greedy) engraved these runes._ Matr was a nickname.--Professor MUNCH. ARNFITHR MATR RAEIST RUNAR THAESAR. _Arnfinn, glutton, carved these Runes._--Professor RAFN. No. XVI. MAETH, THAERI, OGHSE, ER, ATE, KOR, UKR. TRAENILSONR, FYRIR, SUNAN LANT. _With that Axe which Kor owned hews. Traenaldson along South-lying lands._--Professor STEPHENS. MAETH, THAEIREI [RUNE]HSE ERATI KOUKR TRAENILSONR. FYRIR SUNAN LANT. _With this Axe which Goukr Traenaldson owned or possessed on the south side of the country._ The beginning of the inscription is wanting. Gauk Trandilson was the foster-brother of Asgrim Elsdagrimson--described in "Burnt Njal," one of the chiefs in the south of Iceland about 990. The writer probably means to say that these runes were engraved with the same axe which Gauk Trandilson possessed at the end of the 10th century. The runes here found were perhaps engraved about the year 1152. No doubt "the land" here spoken of is Iceland, and the engraver an Icelander, perhaps even a descendant of the old chieftain.--Professor MUNCH. MAETH THAERI �HSE ER ATI G�UKR TRAEN ILS SONR FYRIR SUNAN LAND. _With this Axe, owned by Gauk, the son of Trandil, in the South of the country._--Professor RAFN. No. XVII. HAEMUNTR, HARTHEKSI, RAEIST RUN. _Haermunt Hardaxe carved these Runes._--Professor STEPHENS. HAERMUNTR HARTHEKSI RAEIST RUN. _Hermund Hardaxe engraved these Runes._--Professor MUNCH. HAERMUNDR HARTHIGSI RAEIST RUN. _Hermund Hardaxe carved the Runes._ Hermund probably had in his possession the axe which formerly belonged to Gauk Trandilson, and was used by him in carving the runes.--Professor RAFN. (_Note._--Professors Stephens, Munch, and Rafn, all agree that some letters have been lost or miscarried. The letters, [rune] [rune] at the end of the word run are obviously wanting.--J. F.) No. XVIII. RIST SA MATHR ER RUNSTR ER FYRIR VAESTAN HAF. _The man did cut most versed in Runes in the western countries._ Professor Rafn gives nearly the same description of Gauk as Professor Munch. He reads Nos. xvi. and xviii. together. The words Fyrir vaestan haf, to the west of the sea, refer to the western countries, more especially the British Isles. The Palm-runes are rarely capable of being deciphered. (_Note._--This No. is taken in conjunction with No. xvi. by Professor Rafn.--J. F.) RIST, SA, MATHR, ER, RUNSTR, ER, FYRIR, VAESTAN HAF. _(These runes) risted that man, in Runes most skilful o'er the Western Seas._ The Palm Runes on the first line indicate Thisar Runar--these Runes.--Professor STEPHENS. RIST SA MATHR ER RUNSTR ER FYRIR UAESTAN HAF. _That man engraved who is the best runed West of the Ocean._ No doubt the writer belonged to Orkney, or to some of the other Norwegian possessions. The Bough-runes are not easy to decipher.--Professor MUNCH. No. XIX. SIA, HOUGHR, UAR, FYRLATHIN HAELR, THAEIR, UORO, HUATER, SLITU, ORO, UT, NORTHR, ER, OLGHIT, MIKIT, THAT, UAR. SIMON, SIGHRIK. SIGRITH. INRONINSE �I. _This How was closed up--was quite abandoned. Out North is Fee (treasure) buried much. That was in Roninsey (North Ronaldshay Island)._ The writing is in different hands apparently, and it is probable that the How was abandoned when the inscriptions were engraved. The three names are most likely the names of the writers: they point to treasure buried in North Ronaldshay.--Professor STEPHENS. (_Note._--North Ronaldshay is a wild island half-way between Kirkwall and the Fair Isle, and not easy of access.--J. F.) No. XX. LOTHEBROKRA SYNAR,{1} GHAENAR, MAEN, SAEM, THAEIR, UORO, FYRI, SIR,{2}-- IORSALAFARAR, BRUTU, ORKOUGH{3}--LIFMUT SA, LI, AI, ARIS, LOFTIR,{4}--HIR UAR, FI FOLGHIT MIKIT.{5} (RAEIST). SAEL ER, SA, ER, FINA, MA, THAN, OUTH, HIN, MIKLA.{6} OKO, NAEKN, BAR, FIRR, OUGHI, THISUM.{7} {1}_Lothbrok's sons._ {2}_Doughty men as they were for them, or, what doughty men they were._ {3}_Ierusalem Farers (pilgrims) broke open Ork How_--{4}_Shelter mound; that ill (this bad retreat) aye ariseth lofty (still stands erect)._ {5}_Here was fee buried much._ {6}_Happy is he who find may that treasure the mickle (that great wealth)._ {7}_Otho Naern bare past part how this. Otho was carried past this How in the ship Naern._ Written apparently by seven different persons, perhaps some of Lothbrok's sons. This first writing was probably inscribed about the year 870 or 880, by the celebrated Scandinavian sea kings, and the others at a later period. One appears to complain of the mound itself--that bad retreat--perhaps on account of its affording shelter to the pirates who devastated the island; another inscription describes the breaking into the How by the Jerusalem travellers, and the later writings refer to the common belief at that time of the existence of concealed treasure. Naern is frequently used as a name for ships in Scandinavia. The word Baeirt (at the end of the fourth line) is not in the same hand as the rest of this line, and can only be considered as a mere scribble.--Professor STEPHENS. Nos. XIX. and XX. These must be taken together. The two first lines in both numbers, the 3d in No. xix. and the 4th in No. xx., must be read in continuation. SIA HOUHR UAR FYLATHIN H . . . R LOTHBROKAR SYNER, HAENAR, THAEIRUORO HUATER SLETUORO MAEN SAEM THAEIR UORO FYRISIR. _This tumulus was formerly erected as tumulus_ (_for_ Lodbrok, if Haugr is read, or "_as that_ of" if we read hennar) _her sons they were gallant, hardly (there) were men (such as they were). For themselves_ (_i. e._ shewed themselves). Then read line 3 in No. xx.-- IORSALAFARAR BRUTU ORKHAUG. _The Jerusulem travellers broke the Orkhill._ Then line 3 in No. xix. and 4 in xx., 4 in xix. and 5 in xx., taken in continuation, give-- UTNORTHR ER FE FOLGIT MIKIT THAT ER LA EFTIR, HER VA FE FOLGIT MIKIT (RAEIST SIMON SIGB. . . . SIGRITH) SAELL ER SA ER FINNA MA THAN OUTH HIN MIKLA. _North-westerly is much money absconded, that which lay behind, here was much money absconded (Simon----engraved); lucky is he who may find that great treasure._ The raeist Simon, etc., was written afterwards, and does not belong to the sentence. The 6th and last line in No. xx. is-- OKONAEKN BAR FE UR HAUGI THESSUM. _Okonaekn bore money out of (away from) this tumulus._ It seems, then, that it was supposed to have been originally erected for a mighty woman called Lodbrok, who had gallant sons, and that the Jerusalem pilgrims had dug into the Orkhill, which was probably a different place to this Maes-Howe, that the treasure contained there had been taken away, and that he would be lucky who found it. It also implies that Okonaekn carried off some of the treasure.--Professor MUNCH. Nos. XIX. and XX. SIA H�UHR, VAR FYR LATHIN HAELR LOTHBROKAR SYNER HAENAR THAEIR V�RO HVATIR SLIKT V�RO MAEN SAEM THAEIR V�RO FYRI SIR IORSALAFARAR BRUTU ORKH�UH LIFMND SAILIA IARLS UT NORTHR IR FE FOLHIT MIKIT THAT URLOFOIR HIR VAR FI FOLHGET MIKIT RAEIST SIMON SIHR IN THO INGI SIHRITH SAELIR SA IR FINA MA THAN OUTH HIN MIKLA. OGDONAEGN BAR FI YR OUHI THISUM. _This barrow was formerly a sorcery hall, erected for Lodbrok; her sons were brave, such were men as they were for themselves (such we may call valiant men, such as they were in their achievements)._ _The Iorsalafarar (visitors of Jerusalem) broke open Orkhow . . . Earls._ _To the north-west a great treasure has been hid (but few believe that), a great treasure was hid here.[5] Simon sigr (victor) carved (the Runes) and afterwards Inge._ _Happy he who may discover this great wealth. Ogdonaegn carried away the goods from this barrow._ Ogdonagn is probably a Gaelic name, perhaps corresponding to the present O'Donavan, and the person alluded to may have been of Scottish or Irish origin.--Professor RAFN. [Sidenote: _Plate XI._] No. XXI. ARNFITHR, RAEIST, RUNAR, THISAR, SONR STAINS. _Arnfith risted Runes there, the son of Stain. Thruki Let._ The beginning of an unfinished formula.--Professor STEPHENS. ARNFITHR, RAEIST RUNAR THISAR SORN STAEINS THRUKR LIT. _Arnfinn the son of Steins engraved these Runes._ The other letters are defective and give no distinct meaning.--Professor MUNCH. ARNFITHR RAEIST RUNAR THISAR SONR STAINS. THRUKR LIT. _Arnfinn, a son of Steins, carved these runes. Thrud caused_ . . . . (incomplete).--Professor RAFN. No. XXII. BOT �R OKTIL AT SOKUA, SUO IN KOTALANT.[6] _Sua Inklant._ _Boot (blood money) is also to seek, so in Gothland, so in England._ It may also be a fanciful Alphabet.--Professor STEPHENS. There are peculiar Runes, but too obscure for interpretation. Similar ones have been found near Baffins Bay. (_Vide_ Antiquitates Americanæ).--Professor MUNCH. This No. represents some signs belonging to the calendar--similar ones have been found in the Paradise cavern, and at Hof in Iceland. (_Vide_ Rafn. Antiquitates Americanæ).--Professor RAFN. No. XXIII. IKIKAETHIR, KYNANA, IN, UAENSTA. _Inkikaethr, of women the fairest._ Also the figure of an Otter with a fish in its mouth, meant for a decoration.--Professor STEPHENS. IKIKAERTH IR KYNANA IN UAENSTA. _Ingigerthr is of women the most beautiful._--Professor MUNCH. IGIGAERTH IR KYNANA IN VAENSTA. _Ingigerth is the fairest of the women._--Professor RAFN. [Sidenote: _Plate XII._] No. XXIV. No interpretation of this is offered by the learned Professors. Nos. XXV. and XXVI. A Dragon and Worm Knot.--Professor STEPHENS. No. XXV. This is a Dragon drawn with art. There is a similar one on a stone at Hunstead in Scania. It may be ascribed to the heathen times, as well as the construction of the barrow itself.--Professor RAFN. No. XXVI. A serpentine winding like those found on Runic stones in the Scandinavian north and on other monuments from the last period of heathenism, and the commencement of the Christian era.--Professor RAFN. [Sidenote: _Plate XIII._] The remaining Nos. are considered by all the learned Professors as "scribbles" or scratches, and must be considered as unimportant. [Illustration: PLATE VII.] [Illustration: PLATE VIII.] [Illustration: PLATE IX.] [Illustration: PLATE X.] [Illustration: PLATE XI.] [Illustration: PLATE XII.] [Illustration: PLATE XIII.] Footnotes: [1] The country people state that the building was formerly inhabited by a person named Hogboy, possessing great strength. Haugbuie, in Norse, signifies "the ghost of the tomb;" and Haugr, "tumulus." [2] Professor Rafn says Lothbrok--a pair of shaggy trousers--was the well-known surname of Ragnar Lodbrok. At the time of the carving of the inscription, a popular tradition current in the Orkneys may have ascribed to far antiquity, and to the said hero of the mythico-historical times, the construction of the barrow; and on account of the want of historical knowledge, since the word lothbrok is of feminine gender, the hero may have been mistaken for a woman, and besides, the accounts in the sagas of his sons may have been repeated, that they were brave and valiant. The account given in the Fridthiofs Saga of the Earl Angantyre, reminds us of the pre-historic times of the Orkneys (_vide_ Tridthjóss Saga, c. 5. Thorsteins Saga Vikings). Here a popular tale preserved to us in Runes, does the same by telling us that this barrow was the sorcery platform erected of old for the use of Lodbrok, and was probably also a temple and place of worship. [3] The word read by Professor Rafn, Maur, instead of Mar, and considered as a proper name, is read mair or more by Professor Stephens. In the engraving No. 7, the letters are [rune] [rune] [rune] [rune] obviously m, a, i, r--mair. It must therefore be a matter of doubt whether we can receive this word as a proper name, and consequently whether the derivation of the word Maes-Howe, suggested by Professor Rafn, is admissible. [4] Professor Munch supposes that the Jerusalem travellers, who are described in No. 13 as having broken into the how, were connected with an expedition organized by Earl Ragnvald to the Holy Land. He says "many of the northern warriors joined the Earl in 1152. They assembled in Orkney, and after passing the winter there, sailed in the spring of 1153, and after being in Spain in December of that year, reached the Holy Land in August 1154; they went thence to Constantinople, where they passed the Christmas of 1154-55, returning home by different routes. During their stay in Orkney they had frequent quarrels with the inhabitants." As some of the inscriptions seem to indicate the existence of treasure in the tumulus, it is not unlikely that it should have been examined by these warriors, and that they afterwards inscribed their names, together with other remarks, on the walls. [5] There is a similar allusion to hid treasure on the wall of a rock at Berrig, in the Star valley North Throndheim County--"gull faitu nin alna nither"--They hid some gold nine ells deep in the earth. [6] This ("evidently very difficult carving," says Professor Stephens) may be taken as a fair specimen of the Bind-rune form of writing. "The first letter is B, a very rare form; the second an ornamental O, with three side strokes instead of two; the third a T, the strokes being reversed and repeated above and below; the fourth H/g, here used for �; the fifth, R; sixth, O, as before; seventh, Kt--[rune] and [rune]; eighth, [rune] (i and a), the side stroke being placed below; ninth, At, Bind-rune; tenth, an S; eleventh, O again; twelfth, KU--K and U; thirteenth, the monogram Asuo, A ([rune]), the side stroke thrice repeated, then S ([rune] for [rune]), an uncommon form, then U ([rune]) below, and then ([rune]) with three strokes; fourteenth, the Bind-rune I N K ([rune] [rune] [rune]); fifteenth, an O; sixteenth, an ornamental T; seventeenth, the monogram Alant--A ([rune]) L ([rune]) reversed and below, and [rune] taken again, and N ([rune]) and T ([rune]) above twice; then eighteenth, the Bind-rune Sua, S ([rune]) U ([rune]) and A ([rune]) in the centre; nineteenth, The Bind-rune Ink, I [rune], and [rune]; and lastly the monogram lant L ([rune]), A [rune], and N [rune], and T in the centre--formed thus [rune]." Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Superscripted letters are indicated by {superscript}. The original text includes Runic characters. For this text version, these letters have been replaced with [rune]. 
45583	----	SCAPA AND A CAMERA [Illustration: COUNTRY LIFE] _First published in 1921._ [Illustration: "THE SURE SHIELD OF BRITAIN AND OF HER EMPIRE." (_Extract from His Majesty the King's message to his Navy at the outbreak of war._)] SCAPA AND A CAMERA PICTORIAL IMPRESSIONS OF FIVE YEARS SPENT AT THE GRAND FLEET BASE. BY C. W. BURROWS WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY VICE-ADMIRAL F. S. MILLER, C.B. REAR-ADMIRAL SCAPA FLOW, 1914-1916 LONDON PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICES OF COUNTRY LIFE, LTD., 20, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 2, AND BY GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 8-11, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 2 NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS MCMXXI DEDICATED (BY PERMISSION) TO ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET EARL BEATTY, O.M., G.C.B., AND THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE GRAND FLEET AND AUXILIARIES PREFACE The Author desires to express his indebtedness to the undermentioned, who, by the loan of photographs or in other ways, have assisted in the production of this book: THE PHOTOGRAPHIC BUREAU, Imperial War Museum. O. BAIRD, Esq., Admiralty. P. GOODYEAR, Esq., Senior Constructor, Admiralty. Lieut.-Commander N. A. K. MONEY, R.N., O.B.E., Admiralty. Paymaster-Lieut. HUMPHREY JOEL, R.N.R., H.M.S. "Excellent." T. KENT, Esq., Kirkwall. A. H. DOMINEY, Esq., late Junior Army and Navy Stores, Ltd., S.S. "Borodino." JAS. MACKINTOSH, Esq., Kirkwall. GUIBAL HOUSE, LEE, S.E. 12, _March, 1921_. INTRODUCTION It was my privilege to be in administrative charge of the Naval Base at Scapa from August, 1914, to May, 1916, until relieved by Rear-Admiral Prendergast. The Author, Mr. C. W. Burrows, assumed duty as Cashier of the Dockyard Section at the Base in May, 1915, and was so employed until March, 1920, and thus had a long and intimate knowledge of local doings and surroundings. He has compiled a unique and profusely illustrated book, which should prove of surpassing interest, not only to those who only know of Scapa by hearsay, but particularly to the thousands of officers and men of the Naval, Marine, and Civil Services of the Crown, the Mercantile Marine, and others who were employed in and near Scapa Flow. To the latter it will serve as a remembrance of the incidents, many joyous and some sad and tragic, associated with their sojourn in the northern mists which shrouded Scapa from the public eye. Part IV., dealing with the German ships at Scapa Flow, their dramatic sinking on 21st June, 1919, and the subsequent salvage operations of several of them, is an exceptionally fine pictorial record. Owing to the lack of facilities, practically the whole of the Base Establishment had to be accommodated afloat, and until the arrival of H.M.S. "Victorious" in March, 1916, as accommodation ship and workshop for the Dockyard Staff and workmen, the officers and men experienced considerable discomfort. The men usually found quarters on board the ships upon which they were working, and, owing to the shortness of notice, they were frequently taken to sea. A very marked feature throughout the war was the spirit of loyalty, good comradeship, and emulation which evinced itself among all ranks, ratings, and grades, whether on duty or in recreations. It was this spirit that lightened the discomforts and difficulties which necessarily occurred, maintained the Grand Fleet and Base in a healthy state of efficiency, and brought about the breakdown of the German morale, resulting in the ignominious surrender of the German ships in November, 1918, and their ultimate transfer to Scapa Flow. The Author is to be congratulated in providing such a delightful souvenir of the Great War. F. S. MILLER. LONG HOPE, SHORTHEATH, FARNHAM, SURREY. CONTENTS PART I PAGE THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE BASE 1 PART II SCENES AROUND SCAPA FLOW 29 PART III THE NAVY AT SCAPA FLOW 59 PART IV THE GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW 97 ILLUSTRATIONS "THE SURE SHIELD OF BRITAIN AND OF HER EMPIRE" _Frontispiece_ PAGE MAP OF SCAPA FLOW AND THE ORKNEY ISLANDS _To face_ XX H.M.S. "CYCLOPS" AT LONG HOPE 1 ST. JOHN'S HEAD, HOY 5 DRIFTER NET-BOOM DEFENCE AT HOUTON 7 SUNKEN SHIPS BETWEEN ST. MARGARET'S HOPE AND BURRAY 7 THE GRAND FLEET BASE AT LONG HOPE, 1916, LOOKING TOWARDS WEDDEL SOUND 9 CLOSER VIEW OF THE BASE SHIPS AT LONG HOPE 9 H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE" AT LONG HOPE 11 H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" AT SCAPA FLOW 12 R.F.A. "RUTHENIA" 13 TORPEDO SUB-DEPÔT SHIP "SOKOTO" LYING IN THE INNER HOPE 14 THE BROUGH OF BIRSAY, OFF WHICH H.M.S. "HAMPSHIRE" WAS LOST ON 6TH JUNE, 1916 14 DRIVING OFF FROM THE FIRST HOLE ON FLOTTA 15 CHILDREN'S RACE AT LONG HOPE SPORTS 16 WATCHING THE SPORTS 16 A BOXING MATCH ON FLOTTA 17 A SHIP'S GARDEN AT CROCKNESS 18 U.S.S. "NEW YORK" LEADING THE 6TH BATTLE SQUADRON INTO SCAPA AFTER CROSSING THE ATLANTIC 19 HARVEST FESTIVAL 20 THE "GREEN ROOM" OF A BATTLESHIP; OFFICERS MAKING UP FOR A SHOW 21 GERMAN BATTLESHIP "KAISER" ENTERING THE BOOM AT SCAPA FLOW FOR INTERNMENT AT DAWN ON 26TH NOVEMBER, 1918 23 THE GERMAN SHIPS INTERNED AT SCAPA 23 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "DERFFLINGER" FOUR MINUTES BEFORE FINALLY SINKING, 2.45 P.M., 21ST JUNE, 1919 24 VICE-ADMIRAL SIR R. J. PRENDERGAST MAKING HIS FAREWELL ADDRESS ON H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS," 15TH FEBRUARY, 1920 25 GOOD-BYE TO SCAPA! 26 VIEW LOOKING SOUTH FROM HOUTON BAY 29 WIDEFORD HILL AND THE "PEERIE SEA" 32 LOADING STORES AT SCAPA PIER 32 KIRKWALL HARBOUR FROM THE CATHEDRAL TOWER 33 ALBERT STREET, KIRKWALL 34 ST. MAGNUS CATHEDRAL FROM THE EARL'S PALACE 35 OLD HOUSES IN KIRKWALL 36 STROMNESS FROM THE SEA 37 HOUTON BAY AIR STATION 38 THE CLESTRON BARRIER, STROMNESS 39 THE STANDING STONES OF STENNIS 40 THE RING OF BRODGAR 40 THE TUMULUS OF MAESHOWE 41 THE ENTRANCE TO MAESHOWE 41 A WINDING ROAD IN HOY 42 WARD HILL AND GRAEMSAY ISLAND FROM THE SEA 43 WARD HILL--THE ROAD TO RACKWICK 44 WARD HILL FROM THE EAST 44 THE OLD MAN OF HOY 45 THE DWARFIE STONE 46 THE NEW STONE WALL AND PIER, LYNESS 47 CROFTS NEAR LYNESS 47 EXCAVATIONS AT LYNESS IN CONNECTION WITH THE BUILDING OF THE WHARF 48 THE FIRST TRAIN IN ORKNEY 48 SUNSET OVER THE MARTELLO TOWER, CROCKNESS 49 THE MARTELLO TOWER, CROCKNESS 49 VIEW LOOKING THROUGH THE MARTELLO TOWER, CROCKNESS, TOWARDS LONG HOPE 50 MELSETTER--ON THE ROAD FROM LYNESS TO LONG HOPE 51 LONG HOPE PIER AND POST OFFICE 52 LONG HOPE HOTEL 52 KIRK HOPE, SOUTH WALLS 53 CANTICK LIGHTHOUSE, SOUTH WALLS 53 DIGGING THE PEATS--HOY 54 CARTING HOME THE PEATS 54 HORSE AND OX HARROWING 55 LOADING SEA-WEED FOR MANURE 55 AN ORKNEY CART 55 MAKING STRAW-BACKED CHAIRS, ORKNEY 56 INTERIOR OF AN ORKNEY COTTAGE 57 SPINNING 58 BATTLE SQUADRON EXERCISING IN THE FLOW 59 ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET EARL BEATTY ON THE QUARTERDECK OF H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH" 62 H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH" 63 H.M.S. "REVENGE" AND SHIPS OF THE FIRST BATTLE SQUADRON AT SCAPA 64 H.M.S. "RAMILLIES" 64 H.M.S. "RESOLUTION" 64 H.M.S. "ROYAL OAK" 64 FOURTH BATTLE SQUADRON EXERCISING IN THE FLOW 65 BATTLESHIPS "ORION," "MONARCH," AND "CONQUEROR" IN THE FLOW 66 BATTLESHIPS "COLOSSUS," "ST. VINCENT," AND "BELLEROPHON" EXERCISING IN THE FLOW 66 H.M.S. "RENOWN" 67 H.M.S. "TIGER": A FAMOUS SHIP OF THE BATTLE CRUISER SQUADRON 67 H.M.S. "EMPEROR OF INDIA" 68 H.M.S. "WHITSHED" 68 H.M.S. "BARHAM" 68 LIGHT CRUISER "CALLIOPE" AT SCAPA 69 "MAKE AND MEND" ON LIGHT CRUISER "YARMOUTH" 69 THE DECK OF AN AEROPLANE CARRIER, H.M.S. "FURIOUS" 70 SUBMARINE "G 13" ALONGSIDE H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH" 71 SUBMARINE "K 16" UNDER WAY IN THE FLOW 71 OFFICERS OF SUBMARINE "K 7" IN THE CONNING TOWER 71 MARINES DRILLING ON THE QUARTERDECK OF A BATTLESHIP 72 GENERAL VIEW OF CAPTAIN'S SUNDAY MORNING INSPECTION 73 "TIDYING UP" FOR INSPECTION 74 OFFICERS AND MEN EXERCISING ON THE QUARTERDECK 75 "HOLYSTONING" 76 WASHING DOWN DECKS 77 STOKERS AT WORK 78 CHURCH SERVICE ON H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH" 79 HOSPITAL SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW 80 H.M. HOSPITAL SHIP "MAGIC II.," AFTERWARDS RENAMED "CLASSIC" 80 TRANSFERRING A "COT CASE" FROM A BATTLESHIP TO THE HOSPITAL SHIP DRIFTER 81 DENTIST AT WORK ON A BATTLESHIP (H.M.S. "COLLINGWOOD") 82 H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE" WITH FLEET MAIL STEAMER "ST. NINIAN" AND MAIL DRIFTERS FROM THE FLEET ALONGSIDE 83 MAIL BOAT "ST. OLA" COMING ALONGSIDE H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" 83 SORTING MAILS FOR THE FLEET ON H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE" 84 DISTRIBUTING NEWSPAPERS FOR THE FLEET (H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE") 85 DOCKYARD WORKMEN LEAVING H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" FOR WORK IN THE FLEET 86 REPAIRING A STEAM PINNACE ON THE SLIPWAY AT LYNESS 86 SCHOOL CHILDREN'S ENTERTAINMENT ON H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" 87 THREE OF THE YOUNG ORCADIAN GUESTS 87 "NO COUPONS REQUIRED" 88 CREW OF DRIFTER "SHALOT" 89 LIFTING CHAIN CABLES 89 MOORING VESSEL "RECOVERY" AT SCAPA FLOW 89 U.S.S. "PATUXENT" AND "272" ALONGSIDE H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" FOR REPAIRS 90 AMERICAN MINESWEEPERS IN THE FLOATING DOCK FOR REPAIRS 90 A DAMAGED BRITISH DESTROYER BEING REPAIRED IN THE DOCK 90 S.S. "BORODINO," JUNIOR ARMY AND NAVY STORES' STORE-SHIP WITH THE GRAND FLEET 91 INTERIOR OF SHOP ON S.S. "BORODINO" 91 A CORNER OF AN OFFICER'S CABIN 92 FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 93 A SHIP'S PICNIC 93 A BATHING PARTY 93 THE NAVAL CEMETERY AT LYNESS 94 THE "HAMPSHIRE" MEMORIAL 94 AN INTERESTING STONE TO THE MEMORY OF A CHINAMAN WHO DIED AT SCAPA 94 THE "MALAYA" MEMORIAL 95 THE "VANGUARD" MEMORIAL 95 MAKING FOR HOME 96 THE SCUTTLING OF THE GERMAN SHIPS 97 H.M.S. "LION" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, SCAPA FLOW, AT HEAD OF GERMAN BATTLE CRUISERS, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918 100 H.M.S. "REPULSE," "RENOWN," "PRINCESS ROYAL," AND "TIGER" ESCORTING GERMAN BATTLE CRUISERS THROUGH HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918 100 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "SEYDLITZ" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918 102 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "VON DER TANN" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918 102 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "MOLTKE" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER 1918 103 THE INTERNED GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA 103 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "SEYDLITZ" 104 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "MOLTKE" AT SCAPA FLOW 105 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "DERFFLINGER" AT SCAPA FLOW 106 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "HINDENBURG" AT SCAPA FLOW 106 GERMAN BATTLESHIP "FRIEDRICH DER GROSSE" 107 GERMAN BATTLESHIP "KAISERIN" 107 GERMAN LIGHT CRUISER "KÖLN" 108 GERMAN DESTROYERS AT LYNESS, WITH BATTLESHIPS IN THE DISTANCE 108 PLAN OF THE ANCHORAGE OF GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW 110 A PARTY OF FRENCH OFFICERS VISITING THE GERMAN SHIPS 111 GERMAN BATTLESHIP "BAYERN" SINKING BY THE STERN, 2 P.M., 21ST JUNE, 1919 112 THE FINAL PLUNGE OF THE "BAYERN" 113 GERMAN DESTROYERS SINKING OR BEACHED OFF THE ISLAND OF FARA 114 GERMAN SAILORS TAKING TO THE BOATS 115 BRITISH BOARDING PARTY ALONGSIDE SINKING GERMAN DESTROYER 116 GENERAL VIEW SHOWING GERMAN DESTROYERS SINKING ON THE RIGHT AND BATTLESHIPS IN THE DISTANCE, AT 3.30 P.M., 21ST JUNE, 1919 117 GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "HINDENBURG" AS SHE NOW RESTS AT SCAPA 118 WHALER "RAMNA" STRANDED ON GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "MOLTKE" 23RD JUNE, 1919, TAKEN JUST BEFORE "RAMNA" REFLOATED 119 GERMAN CRUISER "NURNBERG" IMMEDIATELY AFTER BEING REFLOATED AT 2 P.M. ON 3RD JULY, 1919 120 SALVAGE OPERATIONS ON BATTLESHIP "BADEN" AND CRUISER "FRANKFURT" BEACHED AT SMOOGROO 121 SALVAGE WORK ON THE "BADEN" 122 PUMPING OUT THE "FRANKFURT" 123 CRUISER "BREMSE," WHICH CAPSIZED WHILST BEING BEACHED 124 BATTLE CRUISER "SEYDLITZ," LYING ON HER STARBOARD SIDE IN SHALLOW WATER 124 HOISTING THE UNION JACK ON A SINKING GERMAN DESTROYER 125 ON THE "SEYDLITZ" 125 "BADEN" BEING TOWED SOUTH TO INVERGORDON 125 SALVING GERMAN DESTROYER "G 102" 126 SALVAGE PARTY WORKING ON A GERMAN DESTROYER 127 VIEW SHOWING SALVED EX-GERMAN CRUISERS AND DESTROYERS AT LONG HOPE, OCTOBER, 1919 128 THE SALVED GERMAN CRUISERS "NURNBERG" AND "EMDEN" IN LONG HOPE BAY 129 VIEW LOOKING AFT FROM AFTER-CONTROL TOP OF "FRANKFURT" 130 VIEW LOOKING FORWARD FROM THE SAME POSITION 130 EXPANSION RING MARKING ON 6-INCH GUN "NURNBERG" 131 A HUMOROUS EFFORT ON THE PART OF ONE OF OUR SAILORS 131 THE PROPELLER BLADE OF THE "SEYDLITZ" 131 RANGE-FINDER AND SEARCHLIGHT PLATFORM, "NURNBERG" 132 88-MM. GUNS, "NURNBERG" 132 6-INCH GUN ON "NURNBERG" AFTER-TURRET 133 5·9-INCH AFTER-BREECH, "NURNBERG" 133 SEARCHLIGHT CONTROL PLATFORM, "FRANKFURT" 133 10·5-CM. GUN ON A GERMAN DESTROYER 134 TORPEDO TUBES ON A DESTROYER 135 ENGINE-ROOM CONTROL BOARD, "EMDEN" 136 LOWER CONNING TOWER, "EMDEN" 137 GERMAN DESTROYER BEING TOWED SOUTH TO ROSYTH, MARCH, 1920 138 BLOWING UP THE MINEFIELDS 140 CLOSER VIEW OF MINE EXPLOSION 140 SALVAGE OPERATIONS ON S.S. "AORANGI" 142 SUNSET OVER THE HILLS OF HOY 144 [Illustration: To face p. xx. MAP OF SCAPA FLOW AND THE ORKNEY ISLANDS.] PART I THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE BASE [Illustration: H.M.S. "CYCLOPS" AT LONG HOPE.] SCAPA AND A CAMERA THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE BASE Some slight apologia seems necessary to-day for the publication of a book of war reminiscences (even though they be mainly photographic), when so many personages, from Admirals and Generals downwards to the humbler ranks of W.A.A.C.'s and lady typists in Government offices, have seen fit to record in print their experiences during the Great War. This little album is being published at the suggestion of various friends in the Naval Service, with whom the writer has come into contact during the five years he has been associated with the Royal Navy at the Grand Fleet Base at Scapa Flow, and, it is hoped, may reach a wider circle of those to whom the name "Scapa Flow" has hitherto conveyed but a hazy notion of islands shrouded in perpetual northern mist--somewhere north of Scotland, c/o G.P.O., where for five years the Grand Fleet kept its monotonous vigil in readiness for "the Day," and where finally it had its reward when, in November, 1918, the German Fleet was ignominiously escorted into the waters of the Flow, whose defences its submarines had more than once endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to penetrate. Various writers--_e.g._, "Bartimaeus" and the author of "In the Northern Mists"--have written vivid pen pictures of the everyday life of the Navy, and the photographs reproduced in the following pages, besides recalling many monotonous--and some pleasant--times to those who served at Scapa during the war, may help to supplement these books by presenting the actual environment and life of those whose "lawful occasions" necessitated so long a sojourn in these northern waters. To many "Scapa" is a name (judging from the warmth of their remarks when the subject is mentioned) that they would like to eradicate for ever from their book of remembrance. Their feelings are expressed in a parody of a well-known song which appeared in the _Orcadian_ of the 5th December, 1918, entitled-- SCAPA FLOW (A HYMN OF HATE). Have you ever heard the story of how Scapa got its name? If you haven't then you're slow, because it's earned a world-wide fame. It has caused a lot of howling amongst our tars at sea, So I'll tell to you the story as a sailor told it me: Sure a little bit of wastage fell from out the sky one day, And it fell into the ocean in a spot up Scotland way. And when the Sea Lords saw it, sure! it looked so bleak and bare They said, "Suppose we start to build a Naval Base up there." So they dotted it with colliers, to provide the tars with work, With provision boats and oilers, that they dared not dodge or shirk. Then they sprinkled it with raindrops, with sleet and hail and snow, And when they had it finished, sure, they called it Scapa Flow. Now the Navy's been at Scapa ever since we've been at war, And whenever it is over, they won't want to see it more. But for years and years to come, whenever sailors congregate You may bet your life you may hear them sing that Scapa hymn of hate. Curiously enough, the weather forecast given in the _Orcadian_ immediately below read: "Showers or drizzling rain; local mist." Certainly even the most enthusiastic Orcadian has to admit that the islands have few natural features to commend them, and even less of the artificial amenities of civilisation: country practically bare of trees and vegetation, days in winter when the sun hardly seems to rise at all, and a climate that seems to hold the record for rainfall, storms, and unreliability. [Illustration: ST. JOHN'S HEAD, HOY. (The Highest Cliff in Great Britain.)] Yet, in spite of all the unkindness of Nature, to many there hangs a cloud of romance over these far-away northern islands. To those who have the observing eye, they are rich in the remains of a prehistoric past, with a history extending far back into the centuries. They possess a coast of unsurpassed grandeur of form and beauty of colouring, and as they are approached from the south, or seen from one of the hills of Hoy on a fair day, appear like some "fairy archipelago set in a summer sea," whilst a distant mirage often heightens the effect of unreality. In few places does one see such wonderful sunsets and cloud effects as in Orkney, followed often a little later by the "searchlight" rays of the Aurora Borealis. But mainly will those who spent long months and years in Orkney look back, not without regrets, on the spirit of comradeship which made exile endurable, and which, in face of a common danger, united even the most varied personalities to work in harmony for a common cause. Many friendships were made which will long survive the war; many a "cheery night" in the wardroom will recall pleasant memories of those who are now scattered over the Seven Seas; and few of the many thousands who returned to civil life after serving in the Navy during the war but will have some regrets for the days when they took the rough and the smooth together (it was mostly rough) in the northern mists of Scapa Flow. Not a few married into Orcadian families, and the writer recalls his embarrassment on one occasion when in Stonehouse Naval Hospital recovering from an operation, in discussing somewhat freely various Kirkwall acquaintances with a naval officer invalided from the Northern Base, he happened to mention a certain lady's name as one of the fairest of the Orcadian maidens, whom he understood had married a naval officer. "Yes," was the reply, "she is my wife." Until quite recently Scapa Flow and the Orkneys were practically unknown to the majority of Englishmen, and even to-day very few could point out the exact location of Scapa Flow on the map. In a well-known London newspaper of 23rd June, 1919 (after the scuttling of the German Fleet), Scapa Flow was marked on a map as north of Kirkwall, whereas it will be seen from the map reproduced in this volume that it is actually south of that town. It is recalled also that on one occasion a travelling claim of a certain officer at the Base was returned from the Admiralty with a query as to the car hire claimed, and the inquiry was made as to why more use had not been made of the railway facilities! [Illustration: T. Kent. DRIFTER NET-BOOM DEFENCE AT HOUTON.] Scapa Flow was used as an exercise ground for the Home Fleet many years before the war, with headquarters at the north-eastern corner of the Flow; but no preparations appear to have been made for its use as a permanent war Base prior to 1914, and consequently an enormous amount of pioneer work was needed to render it a safe and efficient harbour for the Grand Fleet and its auxiliaries. The magic growth of the Base from a few ships to many hundreds of vessels of all types--battleships, cruisers, destroyers, submarines, depôt ships, oilers, colliers, store and ammunition ships, hospital ships, etc.--constituting the most powerful Fleet ever assembled in one place, was a gradual process, in which many novel situations arose and many difficulties had to be met and contended with. The absence of railway communication, the difficulties of local transport in weather conditions which at times even large vessels could not face, were additional obstacles to the hurried improvisation of arrangements, both ashore and afloat, which were essential to the effectual working of the Grand Fleet. [Illustration: J. Phillips. SUNKEN SHIPS BETWEEN ST. MARGARET'S HOPE AND BURRAY.] When Admiral Jellicoe succeeded Sir George Callaghan as Commander-in-Chief of the newly-named "Grand Fleet" on 4th August, 1914, there were practically no defences whatever on any of the islands, with the exception of a few 12-pounder guns landed from the Fleet, whilst there were, of course, no booms or obstructions across the numerous entrances (Hoxa, Switha, Hoy, and Holm Sounds) to the Flow. It was not until the end of 1914 and the beginning of 1915 that sunken ships were placed across the narrower channels, such as Burra, Water, and Holm Sounds, and that net-boom defence drifters were placed across the larger ones, and 4-inch and 6-inch guns landed at various batteries, which were erected to command these entrances. Consequently, during these early months of the war, the Grand Fleet could not remain in harbour in the Flow for more than a very brief period, owing to the danger of submarine attack; indeed, as Jellicoe remarks in his book on the Grand Fleet, it is a wonder that the Germans did not make a more determined attack on our Fleet during this period. It was on 16th/17th October, 1914, that the "Battle of Scapa Flow" took place, when a report that a submarine was in the Flow caused great excitement, and every available type of craft got under way in the endeavour to locate and sink it, firing at anything remotely resembling a periscope, and at night-time sweeping the seas with their searchlights. It was, I believe, never actually ascertained whether a submarine was present, but, as a result, the Grand Fleet moved further westwards to Lough Swilly, and did not return to Scapa until a few months later when the defences were somewhat more secure. Meantime the organisation of the Base proceeded apace, and H.M.S. "Cyclops" and "Assistance," Fleet repair ships, were joined by a large and increasing number of vessels, with Rear-Admiral F. S. Miller in command of the Base. Even so, continued difficulty was felt to accommodate the even more rapidly expanding personnel, and Admiral Jellicoe writes regarding the "Cyclops" at this period: "The manner in which the great demands on her accommodation were met was a standing wonder to me. In the early part of the war, officers on Admiral Miller's Staff and others were obliged to make their sleeping berths as best they could on the deck or on top of their writing-tables, and it was surprising that the overcrowding in all directions did not affect health." [Illustration: THE GRAND FLEET BASE AT LONG HOPE, 1916, LOOKING TOWARDS WEDDEL SOUND.] [Illustration: "Cyclops." "Victorious." "Assistance." "Imperieuse." "Ruthenia." CLOSER VIEW OF THE BASE SHIPS AT LONG HOPE.] Towards the end of October, 1914, the Base, owing to weather conditions, was moved from Scapa Bay to Long Hope, where it remained until April, 1919, when it was transferred to Lyness, where a substantial sea-wall was in process of completion, and where the Floating Dock was moored. Here it still remains, though of it "Ichabod" must be written, for it retains only a shadow of its former activities. The Fleet itself lay north of Weddel Sound, and the auxiliaries were disposed between Long Hope and Gutter Sound (see map). [Illustration: H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE" AT LONG HOPE.] One of the earliest arrivals at the Base was H.M.S. "Imperieuse" (previously "Fisgard I."). She left Portsmouth in September, 1914, in company with "Fisgard II.," with a party of dockyardmen who were coming up for work in the Grand Fleet; unfortunately "Fisgard II." capsized off Portland Bill with the loss of several lives, but "Fisgard I." arrived safely at Scapa Flow, and was renamed "Imperieuse." During the war she discharged many useful and important functions, and there are few naval officers who served any length of time at Scapa who did not at some time pass through her. Primarily she was the receiving and distributing centre for the mails for the Fleet, and some idea of the enormous number of letters, etc., dealt with may be gleaned from the fact that when the Fleet was present some 50,000 items were sorted and despatched daily. "Imperieuse" was also the headquarters of the staffs of the Admiralty Port Officer (or King's Harbour Master, as he would be styled at a dockyard port), Fleet Coaling Officer, Naval Store Officer, Victualling Store Officer, Naval Ordnance Officer, Cashier, Base Censor, and also accommodated the dockyard working parties, until at a later stage other vessels arrived which relieved her of some of these functions. In spite of the limited office and cabin accommodation, it was an interesting time: the work and the conditions were novel, and there was always plenty to be done in straightening out the various problems that arose. One could write a small volume on the personalities one met at the Base at that time: of a certain genial captain, addicted to forcible but effective speech; of "V.O.S.O.," equally proficient in supplying flour and potatoes, and music; of "N.O.S.O.," who insisted on a duly receipted, countersigned, and approved voucher (in triplicate) before he would part with a minute brass screw; of the "Drifter King," whose knowledge of Scotch drifter-men and their idiosyncrasies was profound; of a certain officer in charge of Water Boats, sent to the Base by the Admiralty as a "gentleman of affairs," whose versatility flowed into such diverse channels as the organisation of a band, sports, the edition of a ship's magazine, the supervision of gifts forwarded by the Fresh Fruit and Vegetables Fund, and in numerous other directions; of W---- and B---- (the "Bullion Brokers"), who could give you _the_ very latest tip straight from the horse's mouth: these are but a few of those who enlivened the Base in 1915-1916. [Illustration: H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" AT SCAPA FLOW.] One of the next noteworthy arrivals at the Base was that of H.M.S. "Victorious," early in 1916. A "dockyard ship" had been awaited for nearly a year to relieve the congestion on "Imperieuse," and in September, 1915, the "Caribbean," duly fitted out for the purpose, left Liverpool for Scapa, but, like "Fisgard II.," sank on the journey north off Cape Wrath. H.M.S. "Victorious" was then taken in hand, and reached the Base safely in March, 1916. She was well provided with workshops and accommodation--being indeed a miniature "floating dockyard"--and at times over 500 dockyard artisans were accommodated, although these usually lived afloat on the ships of the Grand Fleet. The presence of such a large body of civilian workmen on a ship officered and manned by Service ranks and ratings presented several novel problems, and it was largely due to the tact and consideration of both parties that the experiment, on the whole, was justified by the results. The possession of such a ship at the Base, by enabling defects to be adjusted and installations, such as director firing gear, protective deck plating, flying-off platforms, etc., to be fitted by skilled workmen at the Base instead of at a southern dockyard, added considerably to the fighting strength of the Fleet at a time when ships were badly needed, and when our numerical superiority over the enemy fleet was less marked than at a later period of the war. [Illustration: R.F.A. "RUTHENIA."] Early in 1917 the addition of a small Floating Dock enabled much useful work to be done in carrying out minor refits and emergency repairs, and over 200 keels were docked whilst it remained at Scapa. The Fleet repair ships, H.M.S. "Cyclops" and "Assistance," have already been referred to, and they should not be overlooked in this connection; both these vessels carried out, with naval ratings, valuable repairs in connection with the maintenance of the machinery, etc., of the ships of the Grand Fleet. [Illustration: TORPEDO SUB-DEPÔT SHIP "SOKOTO" LYING IN THE INNER HOPE.] [Illustration: THE BROUGH OF BIRSAY, OFF WHICH H.M.S. "HAMPSHIRE" WAS LOST ON 6TH JUNE, 1916.] Meantime the duties of "Imperieuse" were still further relieved by the arrival of other vessels. R.F.A. "Ruthenia," previously a dummy battleship, became the storeship and headquarters of the Victualling and Naval Store Officers, and the Fleet Coaling Officer took up his quarters in R.F.A. "Perthshire" in the secluded waters of Pegal Bay; whilst the "Sokoto" (a depôt ship for the storing and repair of torpedoes) and M.F.A. "Zaria" (repair ship for small craft, such as drifters, trawlers, etc.) were already at Long Hope. [Illustration: DRIVING OFF FROM THE FIRST HOLE ON FLOTTA.] Once the early work of organisation was over, life at Scapa, especially for the Base ships, settled down to a somewhat monotonous routine, varied by spasms of excitement when the Grand Fleet received orders to proceed to sea, and one wondered if _this_ time it was actually a "stunt," or merely once more "P.Z." The summer of 1916 was not, however, without incident. The return of the Fleet from Jutland, on the morning of 2nd June, was an exciting moment, followed a few days later by the dramatic news that Lord Kitchener had been lost in H.M.S. "Hampshire" off Marwick Head, and later in the month the King paid a short visit to the Fleet. Just over a year later, in July, 1917, the battleship "Vanguard" blew up with the loss of practically the entire ship's company. The explosion occurred late at night (about eleven o'clock), and the vivid flames which illumined the twilight sky (it was still fairly light) were followed by a dense column of smoke rising about half a mile into the sky. Everyone rushed on deck clad in a varied assortment of night attire, every available craft was rushed to the scene of the disaster, and anti-submarine precautions were ordered to be taken. Some idea of the force of the explosion may be gathered from the fact the "Vanguard's" pinnace was blown clean over the next ship in the line, and landed in the water on the other side, practically undamaged, whilst it was reported that a packet of Treasury notes was picked up intact next day on the neighbouring island of Flotta. [Illustration: CHILDREN'S RACE AT LONG HOPE SPORTS.] [Illustration: WATCHING THE SPORTS.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. A BOXING MATCH ON FLOTTA.] [Illustration: A SHIP'S GARDEN AT CROCKNESS.] Towards the end of December, 1917, our Fleet was strengthened by the arrival of four U.S. battleships, which were incorporated into the Grand Fleet as the Sixth Battle Squadron. The presence of the Americans contributed some new features into the life of the Base, notably in the domain of sport, and baseball became for a time quite a popular game. The importance of games and sport, incidentally, has always been recognised in the Navy, and nowhere was the need for recreation more essential for the maintenance of morale and fitness than at Scapa. Football was played all the year round (there being no summer to speak of in these northern latitudes) on Flotta (the playing ground of the Grand Fleet), and at Long Hope and Lyness by the Base ships, whilst two or three rough golf courses were laid out for the use of officers. Admiral Jellicoe used often to be seen playing a hurried game round the course at Flotta in the few moments of relaxation he was able to snatch from his work on the "Iron Duke." Tennis was hardly a possible game, owing to the inclement weather and the continual winds, but one or two ash and gravel courts were made at the shore batteries. Sailing and pulling matches were frequently arranged, and the sports of the Base ships at Long Hope became an annual event greatly looked forward to by the local inhabitants as well as by the ships' companies. Another annual event of great interest was the Grand Fleet Boxing Championship Contest, held outside the Y.M.C.A. Hut at Flotta. These competitions were witnessed by as many as 10,000 men, and the writer recalls an inspiring speech made by Admiral Beatty to this great gathering of sailors in July, 1917, after he had distributed the prizes. Prince Albert, incidentally, was present on this occasion. [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. U.S.S. "NEW YORK" LEADING THE 6TH BATTLE SQUADRON INTO SCAPA AFTER CROSSING THE ATLANTIC.] [Illustration: "HARVEST FESTIVAL. "] The work of the Y.M.C.A. Huts, at Flotta and Long Hope, and of the Church Army Hut later at Lyness, was of great value in providing almost the only recreation and social amusement obtainable outside of one's ship, and the ladies who volunteered for service in these lonely islands deserve every praise for the way in which they cared for the comfort and entertainment of the men during the war. [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. THE "GREEN ROOM" OF A BATTLESHIP: OFFICERS MAKING UP FOR A SHOW.] Gardening became at one period quite a popular, as well as profitable, recreation amongst many of the men and officers, and although neither the soil nor the climate was very promising, some remarkably good crops of vegetables were obtained, which were especially welcome in view of the difficulties of obtaining fresh fruit and vegetables on board ship. One enterprising ship actually raised chickens and pigs on one of the islands, although the uncertain movements of the ships made the feeding question a difficult problem at times. A variety of indoor amusements was provided on board ship. The "movies" were always a standing attraction, whilst billiards proved a popular war-time innovation, the movement of the ship adding a fascinating element of uncertainty to the game! Some excellent "shows" were organised, and an improvised stage, with the necessary accessories, was rigged up on the Frozen Meat Ship "Gourko," which proved an ideal "theatre ship," although it was advisable to come warmly clad, as the auditorium was over the refrigerating room! Very little of interest occurred at the Base in the early part of 1918, and the Grand Fleet spent a considerable time in this year at Rosyth, where the completion of the boom defences permitted exercises and firing to be carried out with almost the same degree of safety and convenience as at Scapa. The progress of the war was, as elsewhere, watched with great excitement towards the end of the year, and the signing of the Armistice on the 11th November, 1918, came as a great relief after four years of strain and effort. One of the most welcome of the minor changes effected by the Armistice was the removal of the Censorship which had been rigorously maintained during the war, and for the first time the general public became aware of the jealously guarded secret of the location of the Northern Base of the Grand Fleet. [Illustration: THE GERMAN SHIPS INTERNED AT SCAPA. (Battle-cruisers "Hindenburg" and "Derfflinger" in the foreground.)] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLESHIP "KAISER" ENTERING THE BOOM AT SCAPA FLOW FOR INTERNMENT AT DAWN ON 26TH NOVEMBER, 1918.] The entry of the German ships into Scapa Flow for internment towards the end of the month was a memorable sight, which will not soon be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The vessels came north from Rosyth in detachments, and each group of ships entered the Flow in the grey dawn of an autumn morning, escorted by our own ships. Little groups of spectators who had gathered at points of vantage on the islands identified the various ships as they entered with great interest, and more especially in the case of those who had last met them in action. It was some compensation for those who had spent so many months and years at Scapa that "the Day" should have culminated in such a dramatic and complete surrender of the German Fleet, although it seemed then almost unthinkable that such a surrender should have been made without at least an effort to strike a last blow, or in the last resort to scuttle their ships in port. That some, at any rate, of the officers of the German Navy had these feelings was evident from the destruction of one of their submarines just before the Armistice in the act of entering the Flow, whose outer defences it had indeed penetrated. There seems little doubt that this was a last desperate attempt to sink as many as possible of our Fleet before the final and then inevitable surrender, and one cannot but acknowledge the spirit and the bravery of those who took part in such a forlorn hope. [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "DERFFLINGER" FOUR MINUTES BEFORE FINALLY SINKING, 2.45 P.M., 21ST JUNE, 1919.] [Illustration: VICE-ADMIRAL SIR R. J. PRENDERGAST MAKING HIS FAREWELL ADDRESS ON H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS," 15TH FEBRUARY, 1920.] Even more dramatic was the afternoon of Saturday, 21st June, 1919, when the large majority of the interned vessels sank beneath the waters of the Flow. [Illustration: N. A. K. Money. GOOD-BYE TO SCAPA!] In accordance with the terms of the Armistice German crews were allowed to remain on board the interned ships, and after the preliminary inspection, there was practically no communication with our own ships except for essential matters of duty. This rather aided the preparation of the plans made by the Germans, and shortly after noon on the 21st the sea-cocks of all the vessels were simultaneously opened, and ensigns, and in some cases the Red Flag, hoisted. The First Battle Squadron, which was then at the Base, was exercising in the Pentland Firth at the time, and was not able to return until later in the afternoon, but all available tugs and small craft were immediately ordered to the sinking ships, and as many as possible were run ashore on the surrounding islands. It was a clear afternoon, and probably no more wonderful sight has ever been witnessed than that of these huge vessels on all sides heeling over and plunging headlong--some with their sterns almost vertical above the water, others listing over to port or starboard, with steam and oil and air pouring out of the vents and rising to the surface long after the ships had completely disappeared beneath the water. Débris of all sorts, boats, hammocks, lifebelts, chests, etc., littered the sea for miles round. Small craft of all descriptions were variously engaged: here a drifter would be seen picking up Germans from the water, there a pinnace towing a long string of boats and Carley floats full of prisoners to the Flagship, whilst other craft were occupied heading off parties of Germans who were endeavouring to make for the shore. One or two amusing incidents occurred during the scuttling. One of our water-boats was busily engaged supplying water to one of the ships as she was sinking, and whilst the Germans were actually leaving the ship on the other side. Some school children from Stromness in the tug "Flying Kestrel" had the unique experience of a trip round the ships in the morning, which on their return journey were sinking or had disappeared. By five or six o'clock the whole of the ships had sunk, except the battleship "Baden," which was boarded in time to save her, and three cruisers, which were run ashore or beached. The battle cruisers "Hindenburg" and "Seydlitz" drifted into shallow water, and with the cruiser "Bremse," which turned turtle as she was being beached, are resting on the bottom, and present a spectacle of interest to visitors as they pass in the Mail Boat to Stromness. Such was the inglorious end of the German Fleet, and with its disappearance the Base began slowly to break up. One by one the ships went south, and the acquaintances of many years were severed. On 15th February, 1920, the Base reverted to a peace-time status, and the Admiral commanding the Orkneys and Shetlands (Vice-Admiral Sir R. J. Prendergast) hauled down his flag. Towards the end of the month and during March the salved German cruisers and destroyers were towed south to Rosyth for distribution amongst the Allied Powers, and on 25th March the last of the Base ships remaining, H.M.S. "Imperieuse" and H.M.S. "Victorious," left for Rosyth and Devonport respectively. To-day not a vessel remains of that vast assemblage of ships which were gathered at the Base during the war, and Scapa will probably in future be an exercising base only for the Fleet as in pre-war times. But, whatever its future, the name of Scapa is one that has earned an undying fame in the history of the British Empire and of the world, and it will remain as an enduring memory to those who were destined by the chances of war to be exiled in those lonely islands of the North. PART II SCENES AROUND SCAPA FLOW [Illustration: VIEW LOOKING SOUTH FROM HOUTON BAY.] SCENES AROUND SCAPA FLOW KIRKWALL "Voir Kirkwall, et mourir," a French naval officer remarked to me when visiting Scapa Flow. Without inquiring too closely as to whether there might not have been some ironical "double-entendre" in his apparent admiration of the capital of the Orkneys, it was certainly the Orcadian "Mecca" of the Grand Fleet, and never in its history has it known such activity and prosperity as during the five years of war. A sleepy little town of four or five thousand inhabitants, it was suddenly called upon to assist in supplying the needs of a floating population of close on 100,000 men, and its narrow main (and only) street, "where two wheelbarrows tremble when they meet," bustled with unwonted activity--messmen from the ships loading provisions, naval men and officers engaged in an afternoon's shopping and sightseeing, with an occasional motor lorry or car trying to thread its way amongst the traffic. Kirkwall, as will be seen from the map, is approached from the Flow by way of Scapa Pier, whence it is a walk or drive of about a mile and a half to the town. The little hamlet of Scapa, incidentally, from which the Flow takes its name, assumed importance during the war as a seaplane station, and is the scene of an old custom long forgotten, which is related rather amusingly in a volume on Orkney by a Rev. John Brand, dated 1701. He writes: "In Scapha about a mile from Kirkwal to South-West, it is said there was kept a large and ancient Cup, which they say belonged to St. Magnus, King of Norway, who first instructed them in the principles of the Christian religion and founded the Church of Kirkwal, with which full of some strong drink their Bishops at their first landing were presented; which, if he drank it out, they highly praised him, and made themselves to believe, that they should have many good and fruitful years in his time." He adds rather regretfully: "The Countrey to this Day have the tradition of this, but we did not see the cup; nor could we learn where it was." The fact that the Highland Park Distillery (the most northern distillery in the British Isles) is on the upper Scapa road rather tends to confirm the legend! [Illustration: LOADING STORES AT SCAPA PIER.] [Illustration: WIDEFORD HILL AND THE "PEERIE SEA."] Conveyances known locally as "machines" (they do not speak of traps or chars-à-bancs in Orkney) are always available to convey one to Kirkwall from the Pier, and anyone who has travelled over that bumpy road in one of these vehicles will not forget the experience! [Illustration: KIRKWALL HARBOUR FROM THE CATHEDRAL TOWER.] Arrived in Kirkwall and suitably refreshed (let me recommend the Ayre Hotel of many pleasant memories), the most striking building which meets the eye, and which dominates the town, is the Cathedral of St. Magnus. Kirkwall, as its name signifies (Kirkevaag or Kirk Voe), is the bay of the church, although the original church from which the town takes its name was not that of St. Magnus. Founded before the middle of the twelfth century, it is a very fine example of Gothic architecture, which, fortunately, owing to its remoteness, escaped the zeal of the Reformers, and remains to-day a stately witness of the Norse warriors of old, who played such a prominent and adventurous part in the history of Orkney. Near by are the Bishop's and Earl's Palaces, both also eloquent relics of the days when feasting and fighting were the main preoccupations of the Norse Jarls, whose exploits are recounted so graphically in the "Orkneyinga Saga." [Illustration: ALBERT STREET, KIRKWALL.] [Illustration: ST. MAGNUS CATHEDRAL FROM THE EARL'S PALACE.] Kirkwall during the war was an examination base, and hundreds of craft of all nationalities passed through the harbour to be searched for contraband of war. Later, after the Armistice, it became the headquarters of our own and the American Mine Clearance Service, and the advent of four or five thousand American sailors contributed further to the prosperity and enlivenment of the town. Baseball, for example, and the "jazz," had not hitherto penetrated so far north as Orkney, and dancing soon became almost as great an obsession amongst the fair maidens of Kirkwall as it was further south. To-day Kirkwall is again outwardly the same quiet town it was prior to 1914, but the infusion of new ideas and modes of life, which was inevitable from contact with so many of our own and American people, has produced many changes of mental and social outlook, and in no town will the years 1914-1919 be remembered for their historical significance more than in the capital of the Orkney Islands. [Illustration: OLD HOUSES IN KIRKWALL.] STROMNESS Stromness, situate at the western extremity of the mainland, is next to Kirkwall in size, and is in many respects the rival of the capital. Its position did not give it the same importance as Kirkwall during the war, although it was a convenient centre for some of the subsidiary activities of the Base. For a considerable period it was the headquarters of the Western Patrol, and the various building operations, including the wharf at Lyness and the Air Stations at Houton and Scapa, were supervised from the office of the Civil Engineer at Stromness. The accessibility of Stromness to the sea through Hoy and Burra Sounds, and the probability of submarine attacks on the Fleet through these channels, rendered defensive measures an imperative necessity, and at the time of the Armistice a triple series of boom defences, with the additional safeguards of sunken ships and minefields, rendered ingress a practical impossibility. One of the most remarkable of these defences was the Clestron Barrier between the island of Graemsay and Clestron. This was constructed of conical frameworks of steel rails, which were placed in position with their bases resting on the bottom of the channel, an operation rendered the more difficult by the tides which sweep around these shores, which give Stromness its name (the ness of the "strom" or current). [Illustration: STROMNESS FROM THE SEA.] Stromness is a picturesquely situated little town, with its straggling houses, rising straight from the water's edge, and its rugged coast scenery. The traveller from Kirkwall, after traversing fifteen miles of somewhat monotonous road, is suddenly confronted with the quiet town lying below him in a landlocked bay, with the heights of Hoy rising beyond and adding grandeur to the beauty of the scene. [Illustration: T. Kent. HOUTON BAY AIR STATION.] Amongst the quaint houses in its zigzag mile-long street is one of noteworthy interest, being the house in which Sir Walter Scott wrote the notes of his Orkney novel, "The Pirate," most of the characters in which are drawn from people who actually lived in Stromness. [Illustration: THE CLESTRON BARRIER, STROMNESS.] Stromness was a popular "week-end" resort for those who, during the war and afterwards, were fortunate enough to get leave, there being an excellent and modern hotel, with good fishing in the lochs, and a nine-hole golf course in the near neighbourhood. Close at hand, too, are many places of interest to the historian and antiquarian, which are briefly noticed in the following pages. THE STANDING STONES OF STENNIS "The Standing Stones" are the most noteworthy antiquarian relic in the county of Orkney, and their origin, like those of Stonehenge, is wrapped in obscurity. They were probably erected by the early Celtic inhabitants of Orkney, possibly as sacrificial spots, and they were undoubtedly standing when the Norsemen overran the islands in the ninth century. Standing on the narrow little peninsula in the midst of the Loch of Stennis, and seen as the shadows of evening are falling, they are impressive in their lonely solemnity, and insensibly carry one back to the dawn of history in these islands--to days of sacrificial rites and strange matrimonial ceremonies, to the worship of Thor and Woden. [Illustration: THE STANDING STONES OF STENNIS.] [Illustration: THE RING OF BRODGAR.] [Illustration: THE TUMULUS OF MAESHOWE.] [Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TO MAESHOWE.] MAESHOWE A mile or two from Stennis stands the celebrated Tumulus of Maeshowe. This is a conical-shaped mound rising to a height of about 35 feet, and surrounded by a moat. The interior is approached by a long, narrow passage, leading into a central stone chamber about 15 feet square, from which a number of crypts or cells branch off at the sides. On the walls are inscribed a number of runes, of which, as one humourist observed, "several professors have given as many translations, apparently all different." There is certainly considerable diversity of opinion as to the age and origin of the mound, but it seems to be generally accepted that it was originally the chambered tomb of some chieftain, dating from early Celtic times. [Illustration: A WINDING ROAD IN HOY. (Pegal Burn.)] HOY The island of Hoy lies on the western side of the Flow, and, as most of the Base ships were anchored in its vicinity, it was the island which became the most familiar to and frequented by those going to the "beach" for recreation and exercise. The names of Long Hope, Lyness, Melsetter, North Ness, are as familiar to the many thousands of naval men who spent so long at Scapa, as are the Strand and Charing Cross to Londoners. Fortunately, Hoy is perhaps the most interesting and picturesque of the Orkney Islands, and some of its hill and cliff scenery is amongst the finest in Great Britain, whilst the sportsman, the botanist, and the geologist can find ample material for their various pursuits. Hoy will probably show more permanent evidences of the "naval invasion" of Scapa Flow than any of the other islands, as it has now become, at Lyness, the headquarters of the permanent peace-time naval establishment at Scapa Flow. At Lyness there are the makings of a miniature dockyard, with a wharf accommodating vessels of 30 feet draught, slipway, storesheds, oil, fuel, and petrol depôts, and a reservoir for fresh water supply, which, in the event of war, would be at once available for meeting the requirements of the Fleet. Such an establishment would have been of immense value at the outbreak of the present war, and, indeed, had been contemplated for some years prior to 1914. [Illustration: WARD HILL AND GRAEMSAY ISLAND FROM THE SEA.] WARD HILL, HOY Ward Hill is the highest hill in Orkney (1,556 feet), and from its summit on a clear day a magnificent panorama of the Orkney Islands unfolds itself, lying at one's feet like "the scattered fragments of some ingenious and parti-coloured toy map," whilst on the further side of the Pentland Firth the coast of Scotland is clearly defined as far as Cape Wrath. During the war the whole of the Grand Fleet could be seen in the Flow, and it seemed hard to realise that those small and insignificant specks as they appeared in the distance lay as a "sure shield of Empire" between our nation and the domination of the German Eagle. [Illustration: WARD HILL: THE ROAD TO RACKWICK.] [Illustration: WARD HILL FROM THE EAST.] [Illustration: THE OLD MAN OF HOY.] THE OLD MAN OF HOY The lonely pillar of rock standing well out on the western coast of Hoy is one of the best-known "sights" of Orkney. It stands 450 feet above the sea (as high as St. Paul's Cathedral) in one of the most inaccessible parts of the coast, but the scene repays the hard walk over the moors which a visit to the rock entails. The photo happens to show the features of the "Old Man" quite distinctly. THE DWARFIE STONE The Dwarfie Stone is one of the strange relics of antiquity which abound in Orkney. It is a mass of sandstone about 30 feet in length, 14 feet in breadth, and from 2 to 6 feet in height, and lies in a lonely valley at the foot of Ward Hill. It has been hollowed out on either side of the entrance door shown in the photo into two chambers, each with a stone bed, with a hole in the roof to serve as a window or chimney. Nothing appears to be known of the origin or purpose of the stone, but a rather quaint theory is brought forward in an old book on Orkney (1701), as follows: "Who hewed this stone, or for what use it was, we could not learn, the Common Tradition among the People is, That a giant with his wife lived in this Isle of Hoy, who had this stone for their Castle. But I would rather think, seeing it could not accommodate any of a Gigantick stature, that it might be for the use of some Dwarf, as the name seems to import, or it being remote from any House might be the retired Cell of some Melancholick Hermite. The stone also may be called the Dwarfie Stone, per Antiphrasin or by way of Opposition it being so very great." [Illustration: THE DWARFIE STONE.] Sir Walter Scott refers to the stone at some length in his novel "The Pirate," the scene of which is laid in the Orkneys and Shetlands, and which will be found of interest to the student of Orkney traditions and history. LYNESS [Illustration: THE NEW STONE WALL AND PIER, LYNESS.] [Illustration: CROFTS NEAR LYNESS.] Following the rough road on the east coast of Hoy from Ward Hill, by way of Pegal Burn, one reaches Lyness, in pre-war days a few scattered crofts, and now the Naval Base in Orkney. The stone wharf, built by Messrs. Kinnear and Moodie, of Glasgow, is now only just nearing completion, and the other buildings (torpedo and paravane depôts, petrol tanks, store sheds, etc.) were not available in time to be of much value during the war, but they will be ready for the next! Some idea of the difficulties with which the contractors had to contend will be realised, when it is remembered that every ton of material had to be brought by rail and sea from the south, during a time when, owing to the submarine menace and the shortage of shipping, it was often months before delivery of stores could be made. The work was frequently completely held up by non-delivery of a machine or replacement, whilst the difficulties of recruiting labour in such a desolate spot as the Orkneys were a great handicap. On many days work had to be suspended owing to gales, whilst in winter operations were only practicable during the few hours of daylight available. The works, incidentally, were responsible for the introduction of the first train into Orkney! [Illustration: EXCAVATIONS AT LYNESS IN CONNECTION WITH THE BUILDING OF THE WHARF.] [Illustration: THE FIRST TRAIN IN ORKNEY.] CROCKNESS [Illustration: SUNSET OVER THE MARTELLO TOWER, CROCKNESS.] Crockness lies a little beyond Lyness, to the south, and is chiefly noteworthy for its Martello Tower, which, with that at Hackness on the further side of Long Hope Bay, was erected during the Napoleonic Wars, and completed in 1818 as a protection for the harbour. It was in Long Hope Harbour that merchantmen bound for America and the Continent assembled to await convoy, and it is curious that exactly one hundred years later history has repeated itself, and that during the war just concluded the same system of convoy was adopted from Kirkwall, into which harbour all neutral vessels were sent for examination and convoy. It is rather characteristic of our nation that both the Martello Towers and the works at Lyness were completed some time after the Napoleonic Wars and the European War respectively were over! [Illustration: THE MARTELLO TOWER, CROCKNESS.] The Towers are very solidly built structures, with gun mountings on top, and underground cellars for stowing ammunition, etc., but they have never apparently been of any practical use. It is related that it was not until the present war that a monthly payment, which originated in 1818, to a crofter family for certain services rendered to the original occupants of the Tower, was at length discontinued, when it was discovered that the Tower had been disused for some generations! but the accuracy of the story cannot be vouched for. [Illustration: VIEW LOOKING THROUGH THE MARTELLO TOWER, CROCKNESS, TOWARDS LONG HOPE.] LONG HOPE Continuing by the road from Crockness, the village of Melsetter is passed on the road to Long Hope. At Melsetter is the very fine residence of Mr. and Mrs. Middlemore, whose hospitality was always open to the many naval officers who used to call there. The visitors' book among many famous names contains those of the King and the Prince of Wales, and Admirals Jellicoe and Beatty. A William Morris Tapestry in one of the reception rooms is noteworthy as recording the exploits of "Sir Gawaine of Orkney," one of the Knights of the Round Table. [Illustration: MELSETTER--ON THE ROAD FROM LYNESS TO LONG HOPE.] Long Hope Bay during the war was the headquarters of the auxiliaries of the Grand Fleet, and never in its history were so many vessels of such varied types assembled in the harbour. The village of Long Hope, where there is a good pier, naturally became much frequented by officers and men from the ships, and eventually a commodious Y.M.C.A. was erected, which did much useful work. "Tea on the beach" was always a pleasant change from ship life (and tinned milk!), and the Post Office at Long Hope became a favourite rendezvous for informal tea-parties. (Possibly the attractions of the fair postmistress and her sister had something to do with this!) Incidentally, a writer on Orkney remarks that "there is a considerable Celtic element in the population of South Walls brought by some seventy-one Highlanders, who, evicted from Strathnaver to make room for sheep, settled in the parish between 1788 and 1795, and who have thrown in a dash of good looks not so common in other parts of the group." The comment seems hardly fair to the rest of Orkney, however true it may be with regard to Walls. [Illustration: LONG HOPE PIER AND POST OFFICE.] [Illustration: LONG HOPE HOTEL.] The inn at Long Hope (where the King stayed on one of his visits to the Fleet) was transformed into the office of the Admiral Commanding the Orkneys and Shetlands, and a wireless station was erected alongside. It has now (1921) reverted to its pre-war condition, much to the gratification of the Long Hope inhabitants. [Illustration: KIRK HOPE, SOUTH WALLS.] [Illustration: CANTICK LIGHTHOUSE, SOUTH WALLS.] KIRK HOPE AND CANTICK The road from Long Hope leads past the Y.M.C.A. to the lonely little cemetery (shown on the left of the photo above) at Kirk Hope, and thence to the lighthouse at Cantick Head. A fine view of the islands is obtained from the Lighthouse Tower, and the visitors' book contains the names of R. L. Stevenson and Prince Albert, amongst others of interest. PEATS As there are practically no trees in Orkney, wood is not available for fuel, but fortunately peat is very plentiful, and is used almost universally for heating purposes. The peats are cut in the spring, and a peculiar-shaped form of spade, known as a toysker, is employed to cut the turfs, which are stacked on the side of the bank as shown in the photograph. After a few weeks the peats are "raised"--_i.e._, set on end--and arranged in small heaps, so that they may dry more thoroughly. They are then carted home and stacked, each croft possessing its stack for the winter months. [Illustration: DIGGING THE PEATS--HOY.] During the war parties of men from the ships could often be seen assisting the crofters in digging the peats--such assistance being very welcome at a time when labour was scarce and there was plenty of work to be done on the land. A day at the peats can be recommended to anyone who wants to know what it is to feel really tired after a hard day's work! [Illustration: T. Kent. CARTING HOME THE PEATS.] PRIMITIVE METHODS OF AGRICULTURE IN ORKNEY [Illustration: HORSE AND OX HARROWING.] [Illustration: LOADING SEA-WEED FOR MANURE.] [Illustration: T. Kent. AN ORKNEY CART.] [Illustration: T. Kent. MAKING STRAW-BACKED CHAIRS, ORKNEY.] The primitive cottages which prevailed in Orkney, until a few years ago, are gradually giving way to larger and more substantial dwellings, but some of the crofts are still reminiscent of very early times, consisting only of a "but and a ben," with the beds let into the wall, after the style of the French cupboard beds of Brittany, and with the floors made of stone flags. * * * * * Orkney has several cottage industries, no doubt due to the long winter evenings and the inclement weather. Amongst these is rush plaiting for the famous "Orkney chairs," which, with their comfortable rush backs and seats and hoods, are familiar to all who have been in Orkney. [Illustration: T. Kent. INTERIOR OF AN ORKNEY COTTAGE.] SPINNING Spinning is another occupation of the winter evenings, which has been widely revived recently in Orkney owing to the high price of wool. The Orkneys and Shetlands are noted for the softness and quality of their wool, and the various processes of teasing, carding, spinning and dyeing are all carried out on the crofts. [Illustration: SPINNING.] PART III THE NAVY AT SCAPA FLOW [Illustration: BATTLE SQUADRON EXERCISING IN THE FLOW.] THE NAVY AT SCAPA FLOW The photographs which follow depict various aspects of the work and play of the Grand Fleet and the Auxiliaries at Scapa, and are more or less self-explanatory. Owing to limitations of space, it is not possible to deal adequately with a subject on which so many volumes have been written, but an effort has been made to include as many types as possible of the varied units of the Grand Fleet, and to depict the various phases of the everyday life and recreations of the personnel of the Fleet. Owing to the strict photographic censorship during the war, it was not practicable to take many subjects which would otherwise have found a place in this record, but those which are shown in the following pages will give the reader some little idea of how the Navy "carried on" during the eventful years 1914-1919. [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET EARL BEATTY ON THE QUARTERDECK OF H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH."] [Illustration: H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH."] [Illustration: H.M.S. "REVENGE" AND SHIPS OF THE FIRST BATTLE SQUADRON AT SCAPA.] [Illustration: H.M.S. "RAMILLIES."] [Illustration: H.M.S. "RESOLUTION."] [Illustration: H.M.S. "ROYAL OAK."] [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. FOURTH BATTLE SQUADRON EXERCISING IN THE FLOW.] [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. BATTLESHIPS "ORION," "MONARCH," AND "CONQUEROR" IN THE FLOW.] [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. BATTLESHIPS "COLOSSUS," "ST. VINCENT," AND "BELLEROPHON" EXERCISING IN THE FLOW.] [Illustration: H.M.S. "RENOWN." (In which the Prince of Wales made his recent visit to the Colonies.)] [Illustration: H.M.S. "TIGER": A FAMOUS SHIP OF THE BATTLE CRUISER SQUADRON.] [Illustration: H.M.S. "WHITSHED." (One of our Latest Type Destroyers.)] [Illustration: H.M.S. "BARHAM."] [Illustration: H.M.S. "EMPEROR OF INDIA."] [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. LIGHT CRUISER "CALLIOPE" AT SCAPA.] [Illustration: "MAKE AND MEND" ON LIGHT CRUISER "YARMOUTH." (Note the bins for "Bones" and "Pig Food.")] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. THE DECK OF AN AEROPLANE CARRIER, H.M.S. "FURIOUS."] [Illustration: Humphrey Joel. SUBMARINE "G 13" ALONGSIDE H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH."] [Illustration: SUBMARINE "K 16" UNDER WAY IN THE FLOW.] [Illustration: OFFICERS OF SUBMARINE "K 7" IN THE CONNING TOWER.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. MARINES DRILLING ON THE QUARTERDECK OF A BATTLESHIP.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. GENERAL VIEW OF CAPTAIN'S SUNDAY MORNING INSPECTION.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. "TIDYING UP" FOR INSPECTION.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. OFFICERS AND MEN EXERCISING ON THE QUARTERDECK.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. "HOLYSTONING."] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. WASHING DOWN DECKS.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. STOKERS AT WORK. (Over 4,000,000 tons of coal were supplied to the Fleet at Scapa from the outbreak of war to the date of Armistice.)] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. CHURCH SERVICE ON H.M.S. "QUEEN ELIZABETH."] [Illustration: HOSPITAL SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW.] [Illustration: H.M. HOSPITAL SHIP "MAGIC II.," AFTERWARDS RENAMED "CLASSIC."] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. TRANSFERRING A "COT CASE" FROM A BATTLESHIP TO THE HOSPITAL SHIP DRIFTER. (The more serious cases from the Fleet were sent to the Hospital Ships--of which there were generally three or four at Scapa one of which, H.M.H.S. "Agadir," was set aside for infectious cases only. In addition to the drifter "Coryphæna," shown in the photograph, two other drifters were detached for Hospital Ship duties, named, rather suggestively, the "Golden Harp" and "Elysian Dawn!")] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. DENTIST AT WORK ON A BATTLESHIP (H.M.S. "COLLINGWOOD").] [Illustration: H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE" WITH FLEET MAIL STEAMER "ST. NINIAN" AND MAIL DRIFTERS FROM THE FLEET ALONGSIDE.] [Illustration: MAIL BOAT "ST. OLA" COMING ALONGSIDE H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS." (The "St. Ola" took the place of the "St. Ninian" during the last few months of the war, and mails were then distributed by H.M.S. "Victorious.") For the first three months of the war all mails for the Fleet were landed and distributed at Scapa Pier. In November 1914, a Branch Post Office was opened on H.M.S. "Imperieuse," where the mails and newspapers were sorted and despatched to the Fleet. Some idea of the volume of business transacted to the date of the Armistice can be gathered from the following figures: 42 million letters and parcels sorted and despatched; 85 million letters and parcels delivered; value of postal stamps sold, £275.500.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. SORTING MAILS FOR THE FLEET ON H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE."] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. DISTRIBUTING NEWSPAPERS FOR THE FLEET (H.M.S. "IMPERIEUSE.")] [Illustration: DOCKYARD WORKMEN LEAVING H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" FOR WORK IN THE FLEET.] [Illustration: REPAIRING A STEAM PINNACE ON THE SLIPWAY AT LYNESS.] [Illustration: SCHOOL CHILDREN'S ENTERTAINMENT ON H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS." (The Navy is renowned for its hospitality, and the above shows a group of school children and their teachers who were entertained to a cinema show and tea on board. Many of the children had never seen the "movies" before.)] [Illustration: THREE OF THE YOUNG ORCADIAN GUESTS.] [Illustration: Imperial War Museum. "NO COUPONS REQUIRED." (The work of victualling the Navy at Scapa was no small task, as the following figures of the monthly Fleet requirements indicate: Meat, 320 tons; potatoes, 800 tons; flour, 6,000 140-lb. bags; sugar, 1,500 120-lb. bags; bread, 80,000 lbs.)] [Illustration: CREW OF DRIFTER "SHALOT." (Attached to the Victualling Store Officer R.F.A. "Ruthenia.")] [Illustration: LIFTING CHAIN CABLES.] [Illustration: MOORING VESSEL "RECOVERY" AT SCAPA FLOW. (The mooring work of the Base was performed under the control of the Admiralty Port Officer, H.M.S. "Imperieuse." Amongst the mooring vessels which did useful work in laying and lifting moorings for the Fleet, in addition to the "Recovery" pictured above, should be mentioned the mooring craft "Strathmaree," "Ben Doran," "Ben Tarbet," and "Bullfrog.")] [Illustration: U.S.S. "PATUXENT" AND "272" ALONGSIDE H.M.S. "VICTORIOUS" FOR REPAIRS.] [Illustration: AMERICAN MINESWEEPER IN THE FLOATING DOCK FOR REPAIRS.] [Illustration: A DAMAGED BRITISH DESTROYER BEING REPAIRED IN THE DOCK.] [Illustration: S.S. "BORODINO" JUNIOR ARMY AND NAVY STORES' STORE-SHIP WITH THE GRAND FLEET.] [Illustration: INTERIOR OF SHOP ON S.S. "BORODINO." (The Junior Army and Navy Stores was one of the most popular "institutions" at Scapa, and from 1914 to 1919 it was the great shopping centre of the Fleet. Almost every variety of article was stocked, from "an elephant to a shirt button," and in addition a hairdressing saloon and a laundry were installed.)] [Illustration: A CORNER OF AN OFFICER'S CABIN. (An officer's cabin is his exclusive "sanctum," and in this case the occupant appears to have been determined to keep in mind "the girls he left behind him!")] THE LIGHTER SIDE OF LIFE AT SCAPA FLOW [Illustration: FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT.] [Illustration: A SHIP'S PICNIC.] [Illustration: A BATHING PARTY.] [Illustration: THE NAVAL CEMETERY AT LYNESS. (The Naval Cemetery at Lyness is situate on some rising ground overlooking the waters of the Flow. Here lie buried those who died whilst serving at Scapa, those who fell in the Battle of Jutland, and those who perished in the "Hampshire," "Vanguard" and other vessels. Their memory is perpetuated by the memorials which have been erected by their shipmates, some of which are here shown.)] [Illustration: THE "HAMPSHIRE" MEMORIAL.] [Illustration: AN INTERESTING STONE TO THE MEMORY OF A CHINAMAN WHO DIED AT SCAPA.] [Illustration: THE "MALAYA" MEMORIAL.] [Illustration: THE "VANGUARD" MEMORIAL.] [Illustration: MAKING FOR HOME. (H.M.S. "Victorious" in the Irish Sea on the way to Devonport, March, 1920.)] PART IV THE GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW [Illustration: THE SCUTTLING OF THE GERMAN SHIPS.] THE GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW Although the association of the Grand Fleet with Scapa Flow would of itself have given that hitherto almost unknown spot a peculiar and honourable significance in our naval history, it was undoubtedly the choice of Scapa as the place of internment of the German ships and their subsequent dramatic sinking, which made Scapa a familiar name, not only in this country but all over the world. The photographs which follow show the various phases of the German "occupation" of Scapa from the time that the vessels arrived for internment to the final scenes in March, 1920, when those vessels which had been salved after the scuttling in June, 1919, were finally towed south for distribution amongst the Allied Powers. The first phase took place on 23rd November, 1918, and the succeeding days, when the surrendered ships were escorted from Rosyth to Scapa and anchored in the Flow, prior to taking up their permanent billets in Gutter Sound (previously the collier anchorage of the Fleet; see map on p. 110). The ships arrived in the following order: -------------+----------------------------+--------------------------- _Date._ | _German Vessels._ | _British Escort._ -------------+----------------------------+--------------------------- Saturday, | 20 Torpedo-Boat Destroyers.| Torpedo-Boat Destroyers. 23/11/18 | | | | Sunday, | 20 Torpedo-Boat Destroyers.| Torpedo-Boat Destroyers. 24/11/18 | | | | Monday, | 5 Battle Cruisers, 10 | "Lion" and First Battle 25/11/18 | Torpedo-Boat Destroyers.| Cruiser Squadron and 10 | | Torpedo-Boat Destroyers. | | Tuesday, | 5 Battleships and 4 Light | 5 Ships First Battle 26/11/18 | Cruisers. | Squadron and Second | | Light Cruiser Squadron. | | Wednesday, | 4 Battleships, 3 Light | 4 Ships First Battle 27/11/18 | Cruisers. | Squadron and Third Light | | Cruiser Squadron. -------------+----------------------------+--------------------------- The German ships carried full navigating parties, and came north under their own steam. The dense clouds of smoke which will be observed in the photographs on pp. 102 and 103 testify to the poor quality of the coal with which they were supplied. The crews were later reduced to care and maintenance parties only. [Illustration: J. F. V. Guise. H.M.S. "LION" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, SCAPA FLOW, AT HEAD OF GERMAN BATTLE CRUISERS, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918.] [Illustration: H.M.S. "REPULSE," "RENOWN," "PRINCESS ROYAL," AND "TIGER" ESCORTING GERMAN BATTLE CRUISERS THROUGH HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918.] The complete list of capital ships (apart from destroyers) interned at Scapa is shown below. The battleships "König" and "Baden," and cruiser "Dresden," were later arrivals. BATTLESHIPS BAYERN MARKGRAF KÖNIG KAISERIN KAISER GROSSER KURFÜRST KRONPRINZ WILHELM FRIEDRICH DER GROSSE KÖNIG ALBERT PRINZREGENT LUITPOLD BADEN BATTLE CRUISERS HINDENBURG DERFFLINGER SEYDLITZ VON DER TANN MOLTKE LIGHT CRUISERS BRUMMER BREMSE DRESDEN KÖLN EMDEN KARLSRUHE NURNBERG FRANKFURT During the period of their internment, communication between the German ships and our own Fleet was restricted to a minimum, and no one from our own ships was allowed on board the interned vessels unless on duty of an urgent nature. The Germans were required to victual and store their own ships from Germany, coal and water only being supplied locally. As German warships were not constructed for living aboard for long periods (the sailors being mostly accommodated in barracks when in harbour), the crews at Scapa must have had a rather unenviable time of it, though there was a certain element of poetic justice in interning them in the region where for so long our own Fleet had kept its lonely vigil. As one of their officers remarked in writing home and describing the bleakness and desolation of Scapa: "If the English have stood this for four years, they deserve to have won the war." The German ships were patrolled by a number of drifters--a somewhat ignominious guard for the much-vaunted German Fleet. The Germans' love of music was in evidence even at Scapa, and it was somewhat strange and at times rather pathetic to hear the unfamiliar strains of "Die Wacht am Rhein" and "Die Lorelei" rising from the German ships, some of which still retained their bands. [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "SEYDLITZ" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918.] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "VON DER TANN" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918.] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "MOLTKE" ENTERING HOXA BOOM, 25TH NOVEMBER, 1918.] [Illustration: THE INTERNED GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA.] The anniversary of Jutland (31st May) was not forgotten, and most of the ships displayed bunting, on the pretext of drying their flags, as they were not allowed to fly their ensigns after Beatty's signal on the evening of the surrender at Rosyth. One of the ships prominently displayed a notice in English: "To-day we celebrate the German victory of the Battle of Jutland." [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "SEYDLITZ." (One of the ships which bombarded Scarborough.)] It was somewhat difficult, owing to the isolation of the German ships, to form an idea of the discipline which prevailed on board. It was evident that on most of the ships there were representatives of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Councils, as the members could be readily distinguished by their white armlets. Indeed, there is probably some truth in the report that when the German ships surrendered, the crews confidently expected that our ships, the crews of which they believed to be on the verge of mutiny and Bolshevism, would make common cause with them, and they must have been considerably surprised when Admiral Beatty refused to negotiate with the Council representatives. There were undoubtedly disturbances on some of the German ships whilst they were at Scapa, and it appears to have been due to a rather serious case of insubordination that Admiral Von Reuter, who was in command of the German ships, changed his flagship from the "Friedrich der Grosse" to the "Emden." On the other hand, the simultaneous sinking of the German ships on 21st June, 1919, proved conclusively that a certain discipline still prevailed, for the scuttling was undoubtedly organised and carried out with (from the German point of view) very commendable precision and thoroughness. The scuttling of the German ships on 21st June, 1919, has already been briefly referred to in the earlier part of the book, but as the writer was privileged to be an eyewitness of the events of that afternoon, the reader will perhaps pardon the intrusion of the personal element in a more detailed description of the sinkings. [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "MOLTKE" AT SCAPA FLOW.] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "DERFFLINGER" AT SCAPA FLOW.] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "HINDENBURG" AT SCAPA FLOW.] It was at five minutes past noon that the signalmen reported that the German ships had hoisted ensigns and burgees. The excitement which this announcement produced was intensified a short time later when it became apparent that the ships were sinking, and that the crews were taking to the boats. Lunch was completely forgotten, and arrangements were hurriedly made to get all available small craft to the ships to ascertain if anything could be done to save any of them. I obtained permission from the Admiral to accompany him on an inspection of some of the nearer destroyers, from which it was ascertained that there was no possibility of saving any of the ships other than by beaching them, as the sea-cocks had not been only opened but the valves had been destroyed. Our picket-boat happened to come alongside at this stage, so I jumped aboard and proceeded north up Gutter Sound, where the larger vessels were anchored. Our instructions were to board any German vessels which were still afloat, haul down their ensigns, and to take such steps as were necessary to save life and to direct any boats or Carley floats of Germans to the Flagship. Our picket-boat followed the course shown in the sketch map on p. 110, and we reached the "Seydlitz" at about one o'clock, boarded her and hauled down her colours, and at the same time opened the windlass with a view to parting it and allowing the vessel to drift ashore, but unfortunately it brought up at the slip and held. The "Seydlitz" was then beginning to list heavily, so we left her and next boarded the "Hindenburg," which was also beginning to list heavily to port. [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLESHIP "FRIEDRICH DER GROSSE." (Admiral von Reuter's Flagship.)] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLESHIP "KAISERIN."] [Illustration: GERMAN LIGHT CRUISER "KÖLN."] [Illustration: GERMAN DESTROYERS AT LYNESS, WITH BATTLESHIPS IN THE DISTANCE.] We then proceeded past several of the battleships, which were seen to be rapidly settling down. Whilst abreast of "König Albert," our picket-boat was hailed from the deck of a trawler by the German Admiral, Von Reuter, who asked us to save the crew of the "Bayern," who were in the water. Two drifters which were near by were accordingly ordered close to the "Bayern" for this purpose, and we proceeded in the same direction, when the photographs on pp. 112 and 113 were taken. Immediately afterwards the ship turned over to port, bottom up, and sank, whilst the crews of the boats cheered loudly and waved their caps. We next headed for the "Derfflinger," on the way sending back several boats full of Germans to the "Victorious." The "Derfflinger" foundered a few minutes after taking the photograph on p. 24. On the way back we passed the "Hindenburg," which had then settled on to an even keel with her masts and funnels showing, whilst the "Seydlitz" was then resting in shallow water on her starboard side, with her decks nearly vertical, and her port propeller just showing above the water. Meantime a considerable number of the destroyers had been beached by tugs and other small craft, in addition to three cruisers, whilst the "Baden," the only battleship saved, was still afloat, though very low in the water. On arrival on the "Victorious" we found the ship crowded with Germans, who, after examination, were sent to the Flagship, H.M.S. "Revenge"--which had by this time returned to the Flow from the Pentland, where the 1st Battle Squadron had been exercising--from which ship they were sent south. [Illustration: PLAN OF THE ANCHORAGE OF GERMAN SHIPS AT SCAPA FLOW.] A large amount of salvage work ensued on the vessels which had been beached, most of them being pumped out and docked in the Floating Dock, although it was not found possible to get some of the destroyers off, and these still remain as a memento of that eventful day. All the salved ex-German ships have now been towed south, and have been apportioned amongst the Allied Powers. It is interesting to note that the "Baden" and "Nurnberg," of which several photographs are shown in the following pages, have been allotted to Great Britain, whilst the "Emden" goes to France, and the "Frankfurt" to U.S.A. It appears that most of the salved vessels are to be broken up, thus finally disposing of the remnants of the once great German Fleet. [Illustration: A PARTY OF FRENCH OFFICERS VISITING THE GERMAN SHIPS.] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLESHIP "BAYERN" SINKING BY THE STERN, 2 P.M., 21ST JUNE, 1919.] [Illustration: THE FINAL PLUNGE OF THE "BAYERN."] [Illustration: GERMAN DESTROYERS SINKING OR BEACHED OFF THE ISLAND OF FARA.] [Illustration: GERMAN SAILORS TAKING TO THE BOATS.] [Illustration: BRITISH BOARDING PARTY ALONGSIDE SINKING GERMAN DESTROYER.] [Illustration: GENERAL VIEW SHOWING GERMAN DESTROYERS SINKING ON THE RIGHT AND BATTLESHIPS IN THE DISTANCE. AT 3.30 P.M., 21ST JUNE, 1919.] [Illustration: GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "HINDENBURG" AS SHE NOW RESTS AT SCAPA.] [Illustration: WHALER "RAMNA" STRANDED ON GERMAN BATTLE CRUISER "MOLTKE" 23RD JUNE, 1919, TAKEN JUST BEFORE "RAMNA" REFLOATED.] [Illustration: GERMAN CRUISER "NURNBERG" IMMEDIATELY AFTER BEING REFLOATED AT 2 P.M. ON 3RD JULY, 1919.] [Illustration: SALVAGE OPERATIONS ON BATTLESHIP "BADEN" AND CRUISER "FRANKFURT" BEACHED AT SMOOGROO.] [Illustration: SALVAGE WORK ON THE "BADEN."] [Illustration: PUMPING OUT THE "FRANKFURT."] [Illustration: CRUISER "BREMSE," WHICH CAPSIZED WHILST BEING BEACHED.] [Illustration: BATTLE CRUISER "SEYDLITZ," LYING ON HER STARBOARD SIDE IN SHALLOW WATER.] [Illustration: HOISTING THE UNION JACK ON A SINKING GERMAN DESTROYER.] [Illustration: ON THE "SEYDLITZ."] [Illustration: "BADEN" BEING TOWED SOUTH TO INVERGORDON.] [Illustration: SALVING GERMAN DESTROYER "G 102."] [Illustration: SALVAGE PARTY WORKING ON A GERMAN DESTROYER.] [Illustration: VIEW SHOWING SALVED EX-GERMAN CRUISERS AND DESTROYERS AT LONG HOPE, OCTOBER, 1919.] [Illustration: THE SALVED GERMAN CRUISERS "NURNBERG" AND "EMDEN" IN LONG HOPE BAY.] [Illustration: VIEW LOOKING AFT FROM AFTER-CONTROL TOP OF "FRANKFURT."] [Illustration: VIEW LOOKING FORWARD FROM THE SAME POSITION.] [Illustration: EXPANSION RING MARKING ON 6-INCH GUN "NURNBERG."] [Illustration: A HUMOROUS EFFORT ON THE PART OF ONE OF OUR SAILORS.] [Illustration: THE PROPELLER BLADE OF THE "SEYDLITZ."] [Illustration: RANGE-FINDER AND SEARCHLIGHT PLATFORM, "NURNBERG."] [Illustration: 88-MM. GUNS, "NURNBERG."] [Illustration: 6-INCH GUN ON "NURNBERG" AFTER-TURRET.] [Illustration: 5·9-INCH AFTER-BREECH, "NURNBERG."] [Illustration: SEARCHLIGHT CONTROL PLATFORM, "FRANKFURT."] [Illustration: 10·5-CM. GUN ON A GERMAN DESTROYER.] [Illustration: TORPEDO TUBES ON A DESTROYER.] [Illustration: ENGINE-ROOM CONTROL BOARD, "EMDEN."] [Illustration: LOWER CONNING TOWER, "EMDEN."] [Illustration: GERMAN DESTROYER BEING TOWED SOUTH TO ROSYTH, MARCH, 1920.] EPILOGUE. MARCH, 1921. [Illustration: R. J. Towers. BLOWING UP THE MINEFIELDS. Group of mines exploded in February, 1919, by the Quoyness Mining Station, Flotta Island.] [Illustration: R. J. Towers. CLOSER VIEW OF A MINE EXPLOSION. Photograph taken a mile away with a telecentric lens.] EPILOGUE A few notes remain to be added to the preceding pages to complete the story of Scapa to the present time. The war necessarily left its aftermath at Scapa, as elsewhere, and although much of the "clearing up" has been accomplished, there will remain for many years visible traces of the "naval occupation" of the Orkneys. The signing of the Armistice in November, 1918, entailed only a cessation of active hostilities, and it was not until the summer of 1919 that the reversion of the Base from a war to a peace footing really began. One of the earliest and most important operations to be undertaken after the Armistice was the clearance of the North Sea mine barrage between the Orkneys and Norway, which has already been briefly referred to. This entailed a sweep over an area of 6,000 square miles, and the destruction of over 70,000 mines. The American Minesweeping Detachment, to which the major portion of this task was allotted, arrived in Kirkwall in April, 1919, and by the end of September of that year their task had been successfully accomplished, and the northern gateway was open once more to the mercantile traffic of the world. The mines which had been laid in the smaller areas around the entrances to the Flow were exploded simultaneously in sections--a very much simpler task, as these were connected electrically to shore stations. The photographs on p. 140 give some idea of the force of the explosions, which were audible for miles around. It is of interest to note that the buoy shown on the left of the photograph on the lower part of p. 140 marks the resting-place of the German submarine which was sunk in this minefield a few days before the Armistice. The removal of the booms and the release of the boom defence drifters and trawlers was completed before the end of 1919. The fishermen who formed the crews of these vessels, incidentally, deserve to be recognised for their work during the war, the monotony and isolation of which made their task one of the least enviable at the Base. [Illustration: SALVAGE OPERATION ON S.S. "AORANGI" IN HOLM SOUND. 1. T. Kent.] [Illustration: SALVAGE OPERATION ON S.S. "AORANGI" IN HOLM SOUND. 2. T. Kent.] The raising of the barrier at Clestron (see p. 39) proved a more formidable operation. The ice-breaker "Sviagator," early in 1920, made the unique experiment of crushing some of the hurdles to a sufficient depth to allow vessels of medium draught to pass over with safety, but it was not until the summer of 1920 that the removal of the hurdles was undertaken and completed by a salvage company, and the rails shipped south. The raising of the "block" ships, which had been sunk in some of the narrow channels leading into the Flow, appears to have presented almost insuperable difficulties, mainly owing to tidal currents, and there does not seem to be much likelihood that the vessels in Burra and Water Sounds will ever be raised. In Holm Sound, however, one of the sunken ships, S.S. "Aorangi," was successfully salved by the East Coast Wrecking Company on 8th September, 1920, and beached near the churchyard at Holm. Of the temporary shore establishments at Scapa very little now remains, and the buildings which are still standing have nearly all been converted to meet peace-time requirements. The "miniature base" at Lyness is in the hands of caretakers, and the completion of the wharf (on which £300,000 has been spent) has been stopped, whilst the control of the Naval Area, which since February, 1920, had been in the hands of Captain Alan G. Bruce, R.N., C.B., D.S.O., was on 1st December, 1920, removed to Invergordon. The air stations at Houton, Smoogro, Caldale, and Stenness have been closed down or removed, whilst the seaplane station at Scapa has been acquired by the Orkney County Council as a tuberculosis hospital. Nearly all the shore batteries have been dismantled, the guns removed, the searchlights withdrawn, and the huts sold or demolished. Only at Hoy (Stromness) are the batteries intact, but these are in charge of a civilian caretaker. The Royal Marine Station at Carness (near Kirkwall) remains, but as a smallpox hospital under the Orkney County Council. Various schemes have been under consideration for the removal of the sunken German ships, but at present they still remain as they sank on the memorable 21st June, 1919--a constant source of danger to ships passing through the narrow channels where they lie. It remains to be seen whether steps will eventually be taken to remove the more dangerous of these vessels, or whether they will remain as a permanent memorial of one of the most dramatic episodes of naval history. [Illustration: SUNSET OVER THE HILLS OF HOY. (Mast of sunken German destroyer showing in foreground.)] PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY BILLING AND SONS, LTD., GUILDFORD AND ESHER Transcriber's Notes. In the text version, italics are denoted by underscores. Some place names have been found with alternative spellings. These alternatives may be legitimate and have been left as found. Smoogroo, Smoogro Burra, Burray and Stennis, Stenness. The cruiser Nurnberg should be Nürnberg. This spelling has been left as found. 
29752	----	AN ORKNEY MAID By AMELIA E. BARR An Orkney Maid Christine Joan Profit and Loss Three Score and Ten The Measure of a Man The Winning of Lucia Playing with Fire All the Days of My Life D. APPLETON & COMPANY Publishers New York [Illustration: "Ian was utterly charmed with the picture she made----" [PAGE 60]] AN ORKNEY MAID BY AMELIA E. BARR AUTHOR OF "CHRISTINE," "JOAN," "PROFIT AND LOSS," ETC. _"The pleasant habit of existence, the sweet fable of life."_ ILLUSTRATED D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1918 COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Printed in the United States of America TO MY DEAR FRIEND DR. MARTIN BARR OF ELWYNN, PENNSYLVANIA, I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK. AMELIA E. BARR. "_Honor and truth formed your will, Your heart, fidelity._" _MOTTO_ _"You can glad your child, or grieve it, You can help it, or deceive it, When all is done, Beneath God's sun, You can only love, and leave it."_ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE Introduction 1 I. The House of Ragnor 7 II. Adam Vedder's Trouble 30 III. Aries the Ram 47 IV. Sunna and Her Grandfather 72 V. Sunna and Thora 98 VI. The Old, Old Trouble 129 VII. The Call of War 164 VIII. Thora's Problem 193 IX. The Bread of Bitterness 230 X. The One Remains, the Many Change and Pass 271 XI. Sequences 304 INTRODUCTION Yesterday morning this thing happened to me: I was reading the _New York Times_ and my eyes suddenly fell upon one word, and that word rang a little bell in my memory, "Kirkwall!" The next moment I had closed my eyes in order to see backward more clearly, and slowly, but surely, the old, old town--standing boldly upon the very beach of the stormy North Sea--became clear in my mental vision. There was a whole fleet of fishing boats, and a few smart smuggling craft rocking gently in its wonderful harbour--a harbour so deep and safe, and so capacious that it appeared capable of sheltering the navies of the world. I was then eighteen years old, I am now over eighty-six; and the straits of Time have widened and widened with every year, so that many things appear to have been carried away into forgetfulness by the stress and flow of full waters. But not so! They are only lying in out-of-the-way corners of consciousness, and can easily be recalled by some word that has the potency of a spell over them. "Kirkwall!" I said softly, and then I began to read what the _Times_ had to say about Kirkwall. The great point appeared to be that as a rendezvous for ships it had been placed fifty miles within the "made in Germany" danger zone, and was therefore useless to the British men-of-war. And I laughed inwardly a little, and began to consider if Kirkwall had ever been long outside of some danger zone or other. All its myths and traditions are of the fighting Picts and Scots, and when history began to notice the existence of the Orkneys it was to chronicle the struggle between Harold, King of Norway, and his rebellious subjects who had fled to the Orkneys to escape his tyrannical control. And of the danger zones of every kind which followed--of storm and battle and bloody death--does not the Saga of Eglis give us a full account? This fight for popular freedom was a failure. King Harold conquered his rebellious subjects, and incidentally took possession of the islands and the people who had sheltered them. Then their rulers became Norwegian jarls--or earls--and there is no question about the danger zones into which the Norwegian vikings carried the Orcadeans--quite in accord with their own desire and liking, no doubt. And the stirring story of these years--full of delightful dangers to the men who adventured them--may all be read today in the blood-stirring, blood-curdling Norwegian Sagas. In the middle of the fifteenth century, James the Third, King of Scotland, married Margaret of Denmark, and the Orcades were given to Scotland as a security for her dowry. The dowry was never paid, and after a lapse of a century and a half Denmark resigned all her Orcadean rights to Scotland. The later union of England and Scotland finally settled their destiny. But until the last century England cared very little about the Orcades. Indeed Colonel Balfour, writing of these islands in A. D. 1861, says: "Orkney is a part of a British County, but probably there is no part of Europe which so few Englishmen visit." Colonel Balfour, of Balfour and Trenabie, possessed a noble estate on the little isle of Shapinsay. He enthused the Orcadeans with the modern spirit of improvement and progress; he introduced a proper system of agriculture, built mills of all kinds, got laws passed for reclaiming waste lands, and was in every respect a wise, generous, faithful father of his country. To Americans Shapinsay has a peculiar interest. In a little cottage there, called _Quholme_, the father and mother of Washington Irving lived, and their son Washington was born on board an American ship on its passage from Kirkwall to New York. However, it is only since A. D. 1830, one year before I was born, that the old Norse life has been changed in Orkney. Up to that date agriculture could hardly be said to exist. The sheep and cattle of all towns, or communities, grazed together; but this plan, though it saved the labour of herding, was at the cost of abandoning the lambs to the eagles who circled over the flocks and selected their victims at will. In the late autumn all stock was brought to the "infield," which was then crowded with horses, cattle and sheep. In A. D. 1830, the Norwegian system of weights was changed to the standard weights and measures, and money, instead of barter, began to be used generally. Then a great Scotch emigration set in, and brought careful methods of farming with it; and the Orcadean could not but notice results. The Scotch trader came also, and the slipshod Norse way of barter and bargaining had no chance with the Scotch steady prices and ready money. But even through all these domestic and civic changes Orkney was constantly in zones of danger. In the first half of the nineteenth century England was at war with France and Spain and Russia, and the Orcadeans have a fine inherited taste for a sea fight. The Vikings did not rule them through centuries for nothing: the Orcadean and his brother, the Shetlander, salt the British Navy, and they rather enjoy danger zones. A single generation, with the help of steam communications, changed Orkney entirely and in the course of the second generation the Orcadean became eager for improvements of all kinds, and ready to forward them generously with the careful hoardings of perhaps many generations. And as it is in this transient period of the last century that my hero and heroine lived, I have thought it well to say something of antecedents that Americans may well be excused for knowing nothing about. Also-- ... the past will always win A glory from its being far; And orb into the perfect star, We saw not, when we walked therein. However, Orkney was far from being out of danger zones in the nineteenth century. In its first quarter French and Dutch privateers made frequent raids on the islands; and the second quarter gave her men their chance of danger in the Crimea. They were not strangers in the Russian Chersoneus; their fathers had been in southern seas centuries before them. During the last fifty years they have made danger zones of their own free will, quarreling with coast guards, tampering with smugglers, wandering off with would-be discoverers of the North Pole, or with any other doubtful and dangerous enterprise. And these reflections made me quite comfortable about the "made-in-Germany" danger zone. I think the Orcadeans will rather enjoy it; and I am quite sure if any Germans take to trafficking, or buying or selling, in Kirkwall, they will get the worst of it. In this direction it is rather pleasant to remember that even Scotchmen, disputing about money, will find the Orcadeans "too far north for them." CHAPTER I THE HOUSE OF RAGNOR Kind were the voices I used to hear Round such a fireside, Speaking the mother tongue old and dear; Making the heart beat, With endless tales of wonder and fear, Or plaintive singing. Great were the marvellous stories told Of Ossian heroes, Giants, and witches and young men bold Seeking adventures, Winning Kings' daughters, and guarded gold Only with valor. The House of Ragnor was a large and very picturesque edifice. It was built of red and white sandstone which Time had covered with a heathery lichen, softening the whole into a shade of greenish grey. Many minds and many hands had fashioned it, for above its central door was the date, 1688, which would presuppose that it had been built from revenues coming as a reward for opposition to the Stuarts. It had been altered and enlarged by nearly every occupant, was many-roomed, and surrounded by a large garden, full of such small fruits as could ripen in the short summers, and of such flowers and shrubs as could live through the long winters. In sheltered situations, there were even hardy roses, and a royal plenty of England's spring flowers sweetened many months of the year. A homely garden, where berries and roses grew together and privet hedges sheltered peas and lettuce, and tulips and wall-flowers did not disdain the proximity of household vegetables. Doubtless the Ragnors had been jarls in old Norwegian times, but in 1853 such memories had been forgotten, and Conall Ragnor was quite content with his reputation of being the largest trader in Orkney, and a very wealthy man. Physically he was of towering stature. His hair was light brown, and rather curly; his eyes large and bright blue, his face broad and rosy. He had great bodily and mental vigor, he was blunt in speech, careless about his dress, and simple in all his ways. His Protestantism was of the most decided character, but he was not a Presbyterian. Presbyterianism was a new thing on the face of the earth; he had been "authoritatively told, the Apostles were Episcopalians." "My soul has received no orders to go to thy Presbyterian Church," he said to the young Calvinist minister who asked him to do so. "When the order comes, then that may happen which has never happened before." Yet in spite of his pronounced nationality, and his Episcopal faith, he married Rahal Gordon from the braes of Moray; a Highland Scotch woman and a strict Calvinist. What compact had been made between them no one knew, but it had been sufficient to prevent all religious disputes during a period of twenty-six years. If Rahal Ragnor had any respectable excuse, she did not go to the ritual service in the Cathedral. If she had no such excuse, she went there with her husband and family. Then doubtless her prayer was the prayer of Naaman, that when "she bowed herself in the House of Rimmon, the Lord would pardon her for it." No one could deny her beauty, though it was of the Highland Scotch type, and therefore a great contrast to the Orcadean blonde. She was slender and dark, with plentiful, glossy, black hair, and soft brown eyes. Her face was oval and richly coloured. Her temperament was frank and domestic; yet she had a romantic side, and a full appreciation of what she called "a proper man." They had had many children, but four were dead, and three daughters were married and living in Edinburgh and Lerwick, and two sons had emigrated to Canada; while the youngest of all, a boy of fifteen, was a midshipman on Her Majesty's man-of-war, _Vixen_, so that only one boy and one girl were with their parents. These were Boris, the eldest son, who was sailing his own ship on business ventures to French and Dutch ports, and Thora, the only unmarried daughter. And in 1853 these five persons lived happily enough together in the Ragnor House, Kirkwall. One day in the spring of 1853 Conall Ragnor was at the rear door of his warehouse. The sea was lippering against its foundation, and he stood with his hand on his left hip, as with a raised head and keen eyes, he searched the far horizon. In a few minutes he turned with a look of satisfaction. "Well and good!" he thought. "Now I will go home. I have the news I was watching for." Anon he looked at his watch and reflecting a moment assured himself that Boris and the _Sea Gull_ would be safely at anchor by five o'clock. So with an air of satisfaction he walked through the warehouse, looking critically at the men cleaning and packing feathers, or dried fish, or fresh eggs. There was no sign of slacking in this department, and he turned into the shop where men were weighing groceries and measuring cloth. All seemed well, and after a short delay in his own particular office he went comfortably home. Meanwhile his daughter Thora was talking of him, and wondering what news he would bring them, and Mistress Ragnor, in a very smart cap and a gown of dark violet silk, was knitting by the large window in the living room--a very comfortable room carpeted with a good Kilmarnock "three-ply" and curtained with red moreen. There were a few sea pictures on the walls, and there was a good fire of drift-wood and peat upon the snow-white hearth. Thora had just entered the room with a clean table-cloth in her hands. Her mother gave her a quick glance of admiration and then said: "I thought thou wert looking for Boris home tonight." "Well, then, Mother, that is so. He said we must give him a little dance tonight, and I have asked the girls he likes best to come here. I thought this was known to thee. To call my words back now, will give great disappointment." "No need is there to call any word back. Because of thy dress I feared there had been some word of delay. If likelihood rule, Maren and Helga Torrie will wear the best they have." "That is most certain, but I am not minded to outdress the Torrie girls. Very hard it is for them to get a pretty frock, and it will make them happy to see themselves smarter than Thora Ragnor." "Thou should think of thyself." "Well, I am generally uppermost in my own mind. Also, in Edinburgh I was told that the hostess must not outdress her guests." "Edinburgh and Kirkwall are not in the same latitude. Keep mind of that. Step forward and let me look at thee." So Thora stood up before her mother, and the light from the window fell all over her, and she was beautiful from head to feet. Tall and slender, with a great quantity of soft brown hair very loosely arranged on the crown of her head; a forehead broad and white; eyebrows, plentiful and well arched; starlike blue eyes, with a large, earnest gaze and an oval face tinted like a rose. Oh! why try to describe a girl so lovely? It is like pulling a rose to pieces. It is easier to say that she was fleshly perfect and that, being yet in her eighteenth year, she had all the bloom of opening flowers, and all their softness and sweetness. Apparently she owed little to her dress, and yet it would have been difficult to choose anything more befitting her, for though it was only of wine-coloured cashmere, it was made with a plain picturesqueness that rendered it most effective. The short sleeves then worn gave to her white arms the dark background that made them a fascination; the high waist, cut open in front to a point, was filled in with white satin, over which it was laced together with a thin silk cord of the same colour as the dress. A small lace collar completed the toilet, and for the occasion, it was perfect; anything added to it would have made it imperfect. This was the girl who, standing before her mother, asked for her approval. And Rahal Ragnor's eyes were filled with her beauty, and she could only say: "Dear thing! There is no need to change! Just as thou art pleases me!" Then with a face full of love Thora stooped and kissed her mother and anon began to set the table for the expected guests. With sandalled feet and smiling face, she walked about the room with the composure of a goddess. There was no hesitation concerning what she had to do; all had been arranged and settled in her mind previously, though now and then, the discussion of a point appeared to be pleasant and satisfying. Thus she thoughtfully said: "Mother, there will be thyself and father and Boris, that is three, and Sunna Vedder, and Helga and Maren Torrie, that makes six, and Gath Peterson, and Wolf Baikie and his sisters Sheila and Maren make ten, and myself, eleven--that is all and it is enough." "Why not make it twelve?" "There is luck in odd numbers. I am the eleventh. I like it." "Thou might have made it ten. There is one girl on thy list it would be better without." "Art thou thinking of Sunna Vedder, Mother?" "Yes, I am thinking of Sunna Vedder." "Well and good. But if Sunna is not here, Boris would feel as if there was no one present. It is Sunna he wants to see. It is Sunna he wants to please. He says he is so sorry for her." "Why?" "Because she has to live with old Vedder who is nothing but a bookworm." "Vedder is a very clever man. The Bishop was saying that." "Yes, in a way he was saying it, but----" "The Bishop was not liking the books he was studying. He said they did men and women no good. Thy father was telling me many things. Yes, so it is! The Vedders are counted queer--they are different from thee and me, and--the Bishop." "And the Dominie?" "That may well be. Thy father has a will for Boris to marry Andrina Thorkel." "Boris will never marry Andrina. It would be great bad luck if he did. Many speak ill of her. She has a temper to please the devil. I was hearing she would marry Scot Keppoch. That would do; for then they would not spoil two houses." "Tell thy father thy thought, and he will give thee thy answer;--but why talk of the Future and the Maybe? The Now is the hour of the wise, so I will go upstairs and lay out some proper clothing and do thou get thy father to dress himself, as Conall Ragnor ought to do." "That may not be easy to manage." "Few things are beyond thy say-so." Then she lifted her work-bag and left the room. During this conversation Conall Ragnor had been slowly making his way home, after leaving his warehouse when the work of the day was done. Generally he liked his walk through the town to his homestead, which was just outside the town limits. It was often pleasant and flattering. The women came to their doors to watch him, or to speak to him, and their admiration and friendliness was welcome. For many years he had been used to it, but he had not in the least outgrown the thrill of satisfaction it gave him. And often he wondered if his wife noticed the good opinion that the ladies of Kirkwall had for her husband. "Of course she does," he commented, "but a great wonder it would be if my Rahal should speak of it. In that hour she would be out of the commodity of pride, or she would have forgotten herself entirely." This day he had received many good-natured greetings--Jenny Torrie had told him that the _Sea Gull_ was just coming into harbour, and so heavy with cargo that the sea was worrying at her gunwale; then Mary Inkster--from the other side of the street--added, "Both hands--seen and unseen--are full, Captain, I'll warrant that!" "Don't thee warrant beyond thy knowledge, Mary," answered Ragnor, with a laugh. "The _Sea Gull_ may have hands; she has no tongue." "All that touches the _Sea Gull_ is a thing by itself," cried pretty Astar Graff, whose husband was one of the _Sea Gull's_ crew. "So, then, Astar, she takes her own at point and edge. That is her way, and her right," replied Ragnor. Thus up the narrow street, from one side or the other, Conall Ragnor was greeted. Good wishes and good advice, with now and then a careful innuendo, were freely given and cheerfully taken; and certainly the recipient of so much friendly notice was well pleased with its freedom and good will. He came into his own house with the smiling amiability of a man who has had all the wrinkles of the day's business smoothed and soothed out of him. Looking round the room, he was rather glad his wife was not there. She was generally cool about such attentions, and secretly offended by their familiarity. For she was not only a reader and a thinker, she was also a great observer, and she had seen and considered the slow but sure coming of that spirit of progress, which would break up their isolation and, with it, the social privileges of her class. However, she kept all her fears on this subject in her heart. Not even to Thora would she talk of them lest she might be an inciter of thoughts that would raise up a class who would degrade her own: "Few people can be trusted with a dangerous thought, and who can tell where spoken words go to." And this idea, she knit, or stitched, into every garment her fingers fashioned. So, then, it was quite in keeping with her character to pass by Conall's little social enthusiasms with a chilling indifference, and if any wonder or complaint was made of this attitude, to reply: "When men and women of thine own worth and station bow down to thee, Conall, then thou will find Rahal Ragnor among them; but I do not mingle my words with those of the men and women who sort goose feathers, and pack eggs and gut fish for the salting. Thy wife, Conall, looks up, and not down." Well, then, as Rahal knew that the safe return of Boris with the _Sea Gull_ would possibly be an occasion for these friendly familiarities, she wisely took herself out of the way of hearing anything about it. And it is a great achievement when we learn the limit of our power to please. Conall Ragnor had not quite mastered the lesson in twenty-six years. Very often, yet, he had a half-alive hope that these small triumphs of his daily life might at length awaken in his wife's breast a sympathetic pleasure. Today it was allied with the return of Boris and his ship, and he thought this event might atone for whatever was repugnant. And yet, after all, when he saw no one but Thora present, he had a sense of relief. He told her all that had been said and done, and added such incidents of Boris and the ship as he thought would please her. She laughed and chatted with him, and listened with unabated pleasure to the very end, indeed, until he said: "Now, then, I must stop talking. I dare say there are many things to look after, for Boris told me he would be home for dinner at six o'clock. Till that hour I will take a little nap on the sofa." "But first, my Father, thou wilt go and dress. Everything is ready for thee, and mother is dressed, and as for Thora, is she not pretty tonight?" "Thou art the fairest of all women here, if I know anything about beauty. Wolf Baikie will be asking the first dance with thee." "That dance is thine. Mother has given thee to me for that dance." "To me? That is very agreeable. I am proud to be thy father." "Then go and dress thyself. I am particular about my partners." "Dress! What is wrong with my dress?" "Everything! Not an article in it is worthy of thee and the occasion." "I tell thee, all is as it should be. I am not minded to change it in any way." "Yes; to please Thora, thou wilt make some changes. Do, my Father. I love thee so! I am so proud of thy figure, and thou can show even Wolf Baikie how he ought to dance." "Well, then, just for thee--I will wash and put on fresh linen." "And comb thy beautiful hair. If thou but wet it, then it curls so that any girl would envy thee. And all the women would say that it was from thee, Thora got her bright, brown, curly hair." "To comb my hair? That is but a trifle. I will do it to please thee." "And thou wilt wet it, to make it curl?" "That I will do also--to please thee." "Then, as we are to dance together, thou wilt put on thy fine white socks, and thy Spanish leather shoes--the pair that have the bright buckles on the instep. Yes, thou wilt do me that great favour." "Thou art going too far; I will not do that." "Not for thy daughter Thora?" and she laid her cheek against his cheek, and whispered with a kiss, "Yes, thou wilt wear the buckled shoes for Thora. They will look so pretty in the dance: and Wolf Baikie cannot toss his head at thy boots, as he did at Aunt Brodie's Christmas dinner." "Did he do that thing?" "I saw him, and I would not dance with him because of it." "Thou did right. Thy Aunt Barbara----" "Is my aunt, and thy eldest sister. All she does is square and upright; what she says, it were well for the rest of the town to take heed to. It would please Aunt if thou showed Wolf Baikie thou had dancing shoes and also knew right well how to step in them." "Well, then, thou shalt have thy way. I will wash, I will comb my hair, I will put on clean linen and white socks and my buckled shoes. That is all I will do! I will not change my suit--no, I will not!" "Father!" "Well, then, what call for 'Father' now?" "I want thee to wear thy kirk suit." "I will not! No, I will not! The flannel suit is good enough for any man." "Yes, if it were clean and sweet, and had no fish scales on it, and no fish smell in it. And even here--at the very end of the world--thy friend, the good Bishop, wears black broadcloth and all gentlemen copy him. If Thora was thy sweetheart, instead of thy own dear daughter, she would not dance with thee in anything but thy best suit." "It seems to me, my own dear daughter, that very common people wear kirk toggery. When I go to the hotels in Edinburgh, or Aberdeen, or Inverness, I find all the men who wait on other men are in kirk clothes; and if I go to a theatre, the men who wait on the crowd there wear kirk clothes, and----" "Thy Bishop also wears black broadcloth." "That will be because of his piety and humility. I am not as pious and humble as I might be. No, indeed! Not in everything can I humour thee, and trouble myself; but this thing is what I will do--I have a new suit of fine blue flannel; last night I brought it home. At McVittie's it was made, and well it fits me. For thy sake I will wear it. This is the end of our talk. No more will I do." "Thou dear father! It is enough! With a thousand kisses I thank thee." "Too many kisses! Too many kisses! Thou shalt give me five when we finish our dance; one for my curled hair, and one for my white, fresh linen, and one for my socks, and one for my buckled shoes, and the last for my new blue suit. And in that bargain thou wilt get the best of me, so one favour in return from thee I must have." "Dear Father, thy will is my will. What is thy wish?" "I want thy promise not to dance with Wolf Baikie. Because of his sneer I am coaxed to dress as I do not want to dress. Well, then, I will take his place with thee, and every dance he asks from thee is to be given to me." Without a moment's hesitation Thora replied: "That agreement does not trouble me. It will be to my great satisfaction. So, then, thou art no nearer to getting the best of the bargain." "Thou art a clever, handsome little baggage. But my promises I will keep, and it is well for me to be about them. Time flies talking to thee," and he looked at his watch and said, "It is now five minutes past five." "Then thou must make some haste. Dinner is set for six o'clock." "Dost thou think I will fiddle-faddle about myself like a woman?" "But thou must wash----" "In the North Sea I wash me every morning. Before thou hast opened thy eyes I have had my bath and my swim in the salt water." "There is rain water in thy room; try it for a change." And he answered her with a roar of laughter far beyond Thora's power to imitate. But with it ringing in her heart and ears she saw him go to a spare room to keep his promises. Then she hastened to her mother. "Whatever is the matter with thy father, Thora?" "He has promised to wash and dress. I got all I asked for." "Will he change his suit?" "He has a fine new suit. It was hid away in Aunt's room." "What made him do such a childish thing?" "To please thee, it was done. It was to be a surprise, I think." "I will go to him." "No, no, Mother! Let father have the pleasure he planned. To thee he will come, as soon as he is dressed." "Am I right? From top to toe?" "From top to toe just as thou should be. The white roses in thy cap look lovely with the violet silk gown. Very pretty art thou, dear Mother." "I can still wear roses, but they are white roses now. I used to wear pink, Thora." "Pink and crimson and yellow roses thou may wear yet. Because white roses go best with violet I put that colour in thy cap for tonight. Think of what my aunt said when thou complained to her of growing old, 'Rahal, the mother of twelve sons and daughters is always young.' Now I will run away, for my father does everything quickly." In about ten or fifteen minutes, Rahal Ragnor heard him coming. Then she stood up and watched the swift throwing open of the door, and the entrance of her husband. With a cry of pleasure she clapped her hands and said joyfully: "Oh, Coll! Oh, my dear Coll!" and the next moment Coll kissed her. "Thou hast made thyself so handsome--just to please me!" "Yes, for thee! Who else is there? Do I please thee now?" "Always thou pleases me! But tonight, I have fallen in love with thee over again!" "And yet Thora wanted me to wear my kirk suit," and he walked to the glass and looked with great satisfaction at himself. "I think this suit is more becoming." "My dear Coll, thou art right. A good blue flannel suit is a man's natural garment. To everyone, rich and poor, it is becoming. If thou always dressed as thou art now dressed, I should never have the heart or spirit to contradict thee. Thou could have thy own way, year in and year out." "Is that the truth, my dear Rahal? Or is it a compliment?" "It is the very truth, dear one!" "From this hour, then, I will dress to thy wish and pleasure." She stepped quickly to his side and whispered: "In that case, there will not be in all Scotland a more distinguished and proper man than Conall Ragnor!" And in a large degree Conall Ragnor was worthy of all the fine things his wife said to him. The new clothes fell gracefully over his grand figure; he stepped out freely in the light easy shoes he was wearing; there was not a single thing stiff or tight or uncomfortable about him. Even his shirt collar fell softly round his throat, and the bright crimson necktie passed under it was unrestrained by anything but a handsome pin, which left his throat bare and gave the scarf permission to hang as loosely as a sailor's. At length Rahal said, "I see that Boris and the ship are safely home again." "Ship and cargo safe in port, and every man on board well and hearty. On the stroke of six he will be here. He said so, and Boris keeps his word. I hear the sound of talking and laughing. Let us go to meet them." They came in a merry company, Boris, with Sunna Vedder on his arm leading them. They came joyously; singing, laughing, chattering, making all the noise that youth seems to think is essential to pleasure. However, I shall not describe this evening. A dinner-dance is pretty much alike in all civilized and semi-civilized communities. It will really be more descriptive to indicate a few aspects in which this function of amusement differed from one of the same kind given last night in a fashionable home or hotel in New York. First, the guests came all together from some agreed-upon rendezvous. They walked, for private carriages were very rare and there were none for hire. However, this walking party was generally a very pleasant introduction to a more pleasant and intimate evening. The women were wrapped up in their red or blue cloaks, and the men carried their dancing slippers, fans, bouquets, and other small necessities of the ballroom. Second, the old and the young had an equal share in any entertainment, and if there was a difference, it was in favour of the old. On this very night Conall Ragnor danced in every figure called, except a saraband, which he said was too slow and formal to be worth calling a dance. Even old Adam Vedder who had come on his own invitation--but welcome all the same--went through the Orkney Quickstep with the two prettiest girls present, Thora Ragnor and Maren Torrie. For honourable age was much respected and every young person wished to share his happiness with it. A very marked characteristic was the evident pleasure old and young had in the gratification of their sense of taste, in the purely animal pleasure of eating good things. No one had a bad appetite, and if anyone wished for more of a dish they liked, they asked for it. Indeed they had an easy consciousness of paying their hostess a compliment, and of giving themselves a little more pleasure. Finally, they made the day, day; and the night, night. Such gatherings broke up about eleven o'clock; then the girls went home unwearied, to sleep, and morning found them rosy and happy, already wondering who would give them the next dance. CHAPTER II ADAM VEDDER'S TROUBLE ... they do not trust their tongues alone But speak a language of their own; Convey a libel in a frown, And wink a reputation down; Or by the tossing of a fan, Describe the lady and the man.--SWIFT It is good to be merry and wise, It is good to be honest and true, It is well to be off with the old love Before you are on with the new. Boris did not remain long in the home port. It was drawing near to Lent, and this was a sacred term very highly regarded by the citizens of this ancient cathedral town. Of course in the Great Disruption the National Episcopal Church had suffered heavy loss, but Lent was a circumstance of the Soul, so near and dear to its memory, that even those disloyal to their Mother Church could not forget or ignore it. In some cases it was secretly more faithfully observed than ever before; then its penitential prayers became intensely pathetic in their loneliness. For these self-bereft souls could not help remembering the days when they went up with the multitude to keep the Holy Fast in the House of their God. Rahal Ragnor had never kept it. It had been only a remnant of popery to her. Long before the Free Kirk had been born, she and all her family had been Dissenters of some kind or other. And yet her life and her home were affected by this Episcopal "In Memoriam" in a great number of small, dominating ways, so that in the course of years she had learned to respect a ceremonial that she did not endorse. For she knew that no one kept Lent with a truer heart than Conall Ragnor, and that the Lenten services in the cathedral interfered with his business to an extent nothing purely temporal would have been permitted to do. So, after the little dance given to Boris, there was a period of marked quietness in Kirkwall. It was as if some mighty Hand had been laid across the strings of Life and softened and subdued all their reverberations. There was no special human influence exerted for this purpose, yet no one could deny the presence of some unseen, unusual element. "Every day seems like Sabbath Day," said Thora. "It is Lent," answered Rahal. "And after Lent comes Easter, dear Mother." "That is the truth." In the meantime Boris had gone to Edinburgh on the bark _Sea Gull_ to complete his cargo of Scotch ginghams and sewed muslins, native jewelry and table delicacies. Perhaps, indeed, the minimum notice accorded Lent in the metropolitan city had something to do with this journey, which was not a usual one; but after the departure of the _Sea Gull_ the Ragnor household had settled down to a period of domestic quiet. The Master had to make up the hours spent in the cathedral by a longer stay in the store, and the women at this time generally avoided visiting; they felt--though they did not speak of it--the old prohibition of unkind speech, and the theological quarrel was yet so new and raw that to touch it was to provoke controversy, instead of conversation. It was at such vacant times that old Adam Vedder's visits were doubly welcome. One day in mid-Lent he came to the Ragnor house, when it was raining with that steady deliberation that gives no hope of anything better. Throwing off his waterproof outer garments, he left them to drip dry in the kitchen. An old woman, watching him, observed: "Thou art wetting the clean floor, Master Vedder," and he briskly answered: "That is thy business, Helga, not mine. Is thy mistress in the house?" "Would she be out, if she had any good sense left?" "How can a man tell what a woman will do? Where is thy mistress?" and he spoke in a tone so imperative, that she answered with shrinking humility: "I ask thy favour. Mistress Ragnor is in the right-hand parlour. I will look after thy cloak." "It will be well for thee to do that." Then Adam went to the right-hand parlour and found Rahal sitting by the fire sewing. "I am glad to see thee, Rahal," he said. "I am glad to see thee always--more at this time than at any other." "Well, that is good, but why at this time more than at any other?" "The town is depressed; business goes on, but in a silent fashion. There is no social pleasure--surely the reason is known to thee!" "So it is, and the reason is good. When people are confessing their sins, and asking pardon for the same, they cannot feel it to be a cheerful entertainment; and, as thou observed, it affects even their business, which I myself notice is done without the usual joking or quarrelling or drinking of good healths. Well, then, that also is right. Where is Thora?" "She is going to a lecture this afternoon to be given by the Archdeacon Spens to the young girls, and she is preparing for it." And as these words were uttered, Thora entered the room. She was dressed for the storm outside, and wore the hood of her cloak drawn well over her hair; in her hands were a pair of her father's slippers. "For thee I brought them," she said, as she held them out to Vedder. "I heard thy voice, and I was sure thy feet would be wet. See, then, I have brought thee my father's slippers. He would like thee to wear them--so would I." "I will not wear them, Thora. I will not stand in any man's shoes but my own. It is an unchancy, unlucky thing to do. Thanks be to thee, but I will keep my own standing, wet or dry. Look to that rule for thyself, and remember what I say. Let me see if thou art well shod." Thora laughed, stood straight up, and drew her dress taut, and put forward two small feet, trigly protected by high-laced boots. Then, looking at her mother, she asked: "Are the boots sufficient, or shall I wear over them my French clogs?" Vedder answered her question. "The clogs are not necessary," he said. "The rain runs off as fast as it falls. Thy boots are all such trifling feet can carry. What can women do on this hard world-road with such impediments as French clogs over English boots?" "Mr. Vedder, they will do whatever they want to do; and they will go wherever they want to go; and they will walk in their own shoes, and work in their own shoes, and be well satisfied with them." "Thora, I am sorry I was born in the last century. If I had waited for about fifty years I would have been in proper time to marry thee." "Perhaps." "Yes; for I would not have let a woman so fair and good as thou art go out of my family. We should have been man and wife. That would certainly have happened." "If two had been willing, it might have been. Now our talk must end; the Archdeacon likes not a late comer;" and with this remark, and a beaming smile, she went away. Then there was a silence, full of words longing to be spoken; but Rahal Ragnor was a prudent woman, and she sighed and sewed and left Vedder to open the conversation. He looked at her a little impatiently for a few moments, then he asked: "To what port has thy son Boris sailed?" "Boris intends to go to Leith, if wind and water let him do so." "Boris is not asking wind and water about his affairs. There is a question I know not how to answer. I am wanting thy help." "If that be so, speak thy mind to me." "I want a few words of advice about a woman." "Is that woman thy granddaughter, Sunna?" "A right guess thou hast made." "Then I would rather not speak of her." "Thy reason? What is it?" "She is too clever for a simple woman like me. I have not two faces. I cannot make the same words mean two distinct and separate things. Sunna has all thy self-wisdom, but she has not thy true heart and thy wise tongue." "Listen to me! Things have come to this--Boris has made love to Sunna in the face of all Kirkwall. He has done this for more than a year. Then for two weeks before he left for Leith he came not near my house, and if he met Sunna in any friend's house he was no longer her lover. What is the meaning of this? My girl is unhappy and angry, and I myself am far from being satisfied; thou tell, what is wrong between them?" "I would prefer neither to help nor hinder thee in this matter. There is a broad way between these two ways, that I am minded to take. It will be better for me to do so, and perhaps better for thee also." "I thought I could count on thee for my friend. Bare is a man's back without friends behind it! In thee I trusted. While I feared and doubted, I thought, 'If worse comes I will go at once to Rahal Ragnor'--_Thou hast failed me_." "Say not that--my old, dear friend! It is beyond truth. What I know I told to my husband; and I asked him if it would be kind and well to tell thee, and he said to me: 'Be not a bearer of ill news to Vedder. Little can thou trust any evil report; few people are spoken of better than they deserve.' Then I gave counsel to myself, thus: Conall has four dear daughters, _he knows_. Conall loves his old friend Vedder; if he thought to interfere was right, he would advise Vedder to interfere or he would interfere for him, and my wish was to spare thee the sorrow that comes from women's tongues. I was also sure that if the news was true, it would find thee out--if not true, why should Rahal Ragnor sow seeds of suspicion and ill-will? Is Sunna disobedient to thee?" "She is something worse--she deceives me. Her name is mixed up with some report--I know not what. No one loves me well enough to tell me what is wrong." "Well, then, thou art more feared than loved. Few know thee well enough to risk thy anger and all know that Norsemen are bitter cruel to those who dare to say that one hair of their women is out of its place. Who, then, would dare to say this or that about thy granddaughter?" "Rahal Ragnor could speak safely to me." Then there was silence for a few moments and Rahal sat with her doubled-up left hand against her lips, gazing out of the window. Vedder did not disturb her. He waited patiently until she said: "If I tell thee what was told me, wilt thou visit the story upon my husband, or myself, or any of my children?" Vedder took a signet ring from his finger and kissed it. "Rahal," he said, "I have kissed this ring of my fathers to seal the promise I shall make thee. If thou wilt give me thy confidence in this matter of Sunna Vedder, it shall be for thy good, and for the good of thy husband, and for the good of all thy children, as far as Adam Vedder can make it so." "I ask a special promise for my son Boris, for he is concerned in this matter." "Boris can take good care of Boris: nevertheless, I promise thee that I will not say or look or do, with hands or tongue, anything that will injure, or even annoy, Boris Ragnor. Unto the end of my life, I promise this. What may come after, I know not. If there should be a wrong done, we will fight it out elsewhere." "Thy words are sufficient. Listen, then! There is a family, in the newest and best part of the town, called McLeod. They are yet strange here. They are Highland Scotch. Many say they are Roman Catholics. They sing Jacobite songs, and they go not to any church. They have opened a great trading route; and they have brought many new customs and new ideas with them. A certain class of our people make much of them; others are barely civil to them; the best of our citizens do not notice them at all. But they have plenty of money, and live extravagantly, and the garrison's officers are constantly seen there. Do you know them?" "I have heard of them." "McLeod has a large trading fleet, and he has interfered with the business of Boris in many ways." "Hast thou ever seen him? Tell me what he is like." "I have seen him many times. He is a complete Highlander; tall, broad-shouldered and apparently very strong, also very graceful. He has high cheekbones, and a red beard, but all talk about him, and many think him altogether handsome." "And thou? What dost thou think?" "When I saw him, he was in earnest discussion with one of his men, and he was not using English but sputtering a torrent of shrill Gaelic, shrugging his shoulders, throwing his arms about, thrilling with excitement--but for all that, he was the picture of a man that most women would find irresistible." "I have heard that he wears the Highland dress." "Not on the street. They have many entertainments; he may wear it in some of them; but I think he is too wise to wear it in public. The Norseman is much indebted to the Scot--but it would not do to flaunt the feathered cap and philabeg too much--on Kirkwall streets." "You ought to know." "Yes, I am Highland Scotch, thank God! I understand this man, though I have never spoken to him. I know little about the Lowland Scot. He is a different race, and is quite a different man. You would not like him, Adam." "I know him. He is a fine fellow; quiet, cool-blooded, has little to say, and wastes no strength in emotion. There's wisdom for you--but go on with thy talk, woman; it hurts me, but I must hear it to the end." "Well, then, Kenneth McLeod has the appearance of a gentleman, though he is only a trader." "Say _smuggler_, Rahal, and you might call him by a truer name." "Many whisper the same word. Of a smuggler, a large proportion of our people think no wrong. That you know. He is a kind of hero to some girls. Many grand parties these McLeods give--music and dancing, and eating and drinking, and the young officers of the garrison are there, as well as our own gay young men; and where these temptations are, young women are sure to go. His aunt is mistress of his house. "Now, then, this thing happened when Boris was last here. One night he heard two men talking as they went down the street before him. The rain was pattering on the flagged walk and he did not well understand their conversation, but it was altogether of the McLeods and their entertainments. Suddenly he heard the name of Sunna Vedder. Thrice he heard it, and he followed the men to the public house, called for whiskey, sat down at a table near them and pretended to be writing. But he grew more and more angry as he heard the free and easy talk of the men; and when again they named Sunna, he put himself into their conversation and so learned they were going to McLeod's as soon as the hour was struck for the dance. Boris permitted them to go, laughing and boastful; an hour afterwards he followed." "With whom did he go?" "Alone he went. The dance was then in progress, and men and women were constantly going in and out. He followed a party of four, and went in with them. There was a crowd on the waxed floor. They were dancing a new measure called the polka; and conspicuous, both for her beauty and her dress, he saw Sunna among them. Her partner was Kenneth McLeod, and he was in full McLeod tartans. No doubt have I that Sunna and her handsome partner made a romantic and lovely picture." "What must be the end of all this? What the devil am I to think?" "Think no worse than needs be." "What did Boris do--or say?" "He walked rapidly to Sunna, and he said, 'Miss Vedder, thou art wanted at thy home--at once thou art wanted. Get thy cloak, and I will walk with thee.'" "Then?" "She was angry, and yet terrified; but she left the room. Boris feared she would try and escape him, so he went to the door to meet her. Judge for thyself what passed between them as Boris took her home. At first she was angry, afterwards, she cried and begged Boris not to tell thee. I am sure Boris was kind to her, though he told her frankly she was on a dangerous road. All this I had from Boris, and it is the truth; as for what reports have grown from it, I give them no heed. Sunna was deceitful and imprudent. I would not think worse of her than she deserves." "Rahal, I am much thy debtor. This affair I will now take into my own hands. To thee, my promise stands good for all my life days--and thou may tell Boris, it may be worth his while to forgive Sunna. There is some fault with him also; he has made love to Sunna for a long time, but never yet has he said to me--'I wish to make Sunna my wife!' What is the reason of that?" "Well, then, Adam, a young man wishes to make sure of himself. Boris is much from home----" "There it is! For that very cause, he should have made a straight clear road between us. I do not excuse Sunna, but I say that wherever there is a cross purpose, there has likely never been a straight one. Thou hast treated me well, and I am thy debtor; but it shall be ill with all those who have led my child wrong--the more so, because the time chosen for their sinful deed makes it immeasurably more sinful." "The time? What is thy meaning? The time was the usual hour of all entertainments. Even two hours after the midnight is quite respectable if all else is correct." "Art thou so forgetful of the God-Man, who at this time carried the burden of all our sins?" "Oh! You mean it is Lent, Adam?" "Yes! It is Lent!" "I was never taught to regard it." "Yet none keep Lent more strictly than Conall Ragnor." "A wife does not always adopt her husband's ideas. I had a father, Adam, uncles and cousins and friends. None of them kept Lent. Dost thou expect me to be wiser than all my kindred?" "I do." "Let us cease this talk. It will come to nothing." "Then good-bye." "Be not hard on Sunna. One side only, has been heard." "As kindly as may be, I will do right." Then Adam went away, but he left Rahal very unhappy. She had disobeyed her husband's advice and she could not help asking herself if she would have been as easily persuaded to tell a similar story about her own child. "Thora is a school girl yet," she thought, "but she is just entering the zone of temptation." In the midst of this reflection Thora came into the room. Her mother looked into her lovely face with a swift pang of fear. It was radiant with a joy not of this world. A light from an interior source illumined it; a light that wreathed with smiles the pure, childlike lips. "Oh, if she could always remain so young, and so innocent! Oh, if she never had to learn the sorrowful lessons that love always teaches!" Thus Rahal thought and wished. She forgot, as she did so, that women come into this world to learn the very lessons love teaches, and that unless these lessons are learned, the soul can make no progress, but must remain undeveloped and uninstructed, even until the very end of this session of its existence. CHAPTER III ARIES THE RAM O Christ whose Cross began to bloom With peaceful lilies long ago; Each year above Thy empty tomb More thick the Easter garlands grow. O'er all the wounds of this sad strife Bright wreathes the new immortal life. Thus came the word: Proclaim the year of the Lord! And so he sang in peace; Under the yoke he sang, in the shadow of the sword, Sang of glory and release. The heart may sigh with pain for the people pressed and slain, The soul may faint and fall: The flesh may melt and die--but the Voice saith, Cry! And the Voice is more than all.--CARL SPENCER. It was Saturday morning and the next day was Easter Sunday. The little town of Kirkwall was in a state of happy, busy excitement, for though the particular house cleaning of the great occasion was finished, every housewife was full laden with the heavy responsibility of feeding the guests sure to arrive for the Easter service. Even Rahal Ragnor had both hands full. She was expecting her sister-in-law, Madame Barbara Brodie by that day's boat, and nobody ever knew how many guests Aunt Barbara would bring with her. Then if her own home was not fully prepared to afford them every comfort, she would be sure to leave them at the Ragnor house until all was in order. Certainly she had said in her last letter that she was not "going to be imposed upon, by anyone this spring"--and Thora reminded her mother of this fact. "Dost thou indeed believe thy aunt's assurances?" asked Rahal. "Hast thou not seen her break them year after year? She will either ask some Edinburgh friend to come back to Kirkwall with her, or she will pick up someone on the way home. Is it not so?" "Aunt generally leaves Edinburgh alone. It is the people she picks up on her way home that are so uncertain. Dear Mother, can I go now to the cathedral? The flowers are calling me." "Are there many flowers this year?" "More than we expected. The Balfour greenhouse has been stripped and they have such a lovely company of violets and primroses and white hyacinths with plenty of green moss and ivy. The Baikies have a hothouse and have such roses and plumes of curled parsley to put behind them, and lilies-of-the-valley; and I have robbed thy greenhouse, Mother, and taken all thy fairest auriculas and cyclamens." "They are for God's altar. All I have is His. Take what vases thou wants, but Helga must carry them for thee." "And, Mother, can I have the beautiful white Wedgewood basket for the altar? It looked so exquisite last Easter." "It now belongs to the altar. I gave it freely last Easter. I promised then that it should never hold flowers again for any meaner festival. Take whatever thou wants for thy purpose, and delay me no longer. I have this day to put two days' work into one day." Then she lifted her eyes from the pastry she was making and looking at Thora, asked: "Art thou not too lightly clothed?" "I have warm underclothing on. Thou would not like me to dress God's altar in anything but pure white linen? All that I wear has been made spotless for this day's work." "That is right, but now thou must make some haste. There is no certainty about Aunt Barbie. She may be at her home this very minute." "The boat is not due until ten o'clock." "Not unless Barbara Brodie wanted to land at seven. Then, if she wished, winds and waves would have her here at seven. Her wishes follow her like a shadow. Go thy way now. Thou art troubling me. I believe I have put too much sugar in the custard." "But that would be a thing incredible." Then Thora took a hasty kiss, and went her way. A large scarlet cloak covered her white linen dress, and its hood was drawn partially over her head. In her hands she carried the precious Wedgewood basket, and Helga and her daughter had charge of the flowers and of several glass vases for their reception. In an hour all Thora required had been brought safely to the vestry of Saint Magnus, and then she found herself quite alone in this grand, dim, silent House of God. In the meantime Aunt Barbara Brodie had done exactly as Rahal Ragnor anticipated. The boat had made the journey in an abnormally short time. A full sea, and strong, favourable winds, had carried her through the stormiest Firth in Scotland, at a racer's speed; and she was at her dock, and had delivered all her passengers when Conall Ragnor arrived at his warehouse. Then he had sent word to Rahal, and consequently she ventured on the prediction that "Aunt Barbara might already be at her home." However, it had not been told the Mistress of Ragnor, that her sister-in-law had actually "picked up someone on the way"; and that for this reason she had gone directly to her own residence. For on this occasion, her hospitality had been stimulated by a remarkably handsome young man, who had proved to be the son of Dr. John Macrae, a somewhat celebrated preacher of the most extreme Calvinist type. She heartily disapproved of the minister, but she instantly acknowledged the charm of his son; but without her brother's permission she thought it best not to hazard his influence over the inexperienced Thora. "I am fifty-two years old," she thought, "and I know the measure of a man's deceitfulness, so I can take care of myself, but Thora is a childlike lassie. It would not be fair to put her in danger without word or warning. The lad has a wonderful winning way with women." So she took her fascinating guest to her own residence, and when he had been refreshed by a good breakfast, he frankly said to her: "I came here on special business. I have a large sum of money to deliver, and I think I will attend to that matter at once." "I will not hinder thee," said Mrs. Brodie, "I'm no way troubled to take care of my own money, but it is just an aggravation to take care of other folks' siller. And who may thou be going to give a 'large sum of money' to, in Kirkwall town? I wouldn't wonder if the party isn't my own brother, Captain Conall Ragnor?" "No, Mistress," the young man replied. "It belongs to a young gentleman called McLeod." "Humph! A trading man is whiles very little of a gentleman. What do you think of McLeod?" "I am the manager of his Edinburgh business, so I cannot discuss his personality." "That's right, laddie! Folks seldom see any good thing in their employer; and it is quite fair for them to be just as blind to any bad thing in him--but I'll tell you frankly that your employer has not a first rate reputation here." "All right, Mistress Brodie! His reputation is not in my charge--only his money. I do not think the quality of his reputation can hurt mine." "Your father's reputation will stand bail for yours. Well now, run away and get business off your mind, and be back here for one o'clock dinner. I will not wait a minute after the clock chaps one. This afternoon I am going to my brother's house, and I sent him a message which asks for permission to bring you with me." "Thanks!" but he said the word in an unthankful tone, and then he looked into Mistress Brodie's face, and she laughed and imitated his expression, as she assured him "she had no girl with matrimonial intentions in view." "You see, Mistress," he said, "I do not intend to remain longer than a week. Why should I run into danger? I am ready to take heartaches. Can you tell me how best to find McLeod's warehouse?" "Speir at any man you meet, and any man will show you the place. I, myself, am not carin' to send folk an ill road." So Ian Macrae went into the town and easily found his friend and employer. Then their business was easily settled and it appeared to be every way gratifying to both men. "You have taken a business I hate off my hands, Ian," said McLeod, "and I am grateful to you. Where shall we go today? What would you like to do with yourself?" "Why, Kenneth, I would like first of all to see the inside of your grand cathedral. I would say, it must be very ancient." "Began in A. D., 1138. Is that old?" "Seven hundred years! That will do for age. They were good builders then. I have a strange love for these old shrines where multitudes have prayed for centuries. They are full of _Presence_ to me." "_Presence._ What do you mean?" "Souls." "You are a creepy kind of mortal. I think, Ian, if you were not such a godless man, you might have been a saint." Macrae drew his lips tight, and then said in detached words--"My father is--sure--I--was--born--at--the--other--end--of--the--measure." Then they were in the interior of the cathedral. The light was dim, the silence intense, and both men were profoundly affected by influences unknown and unseen. As they moved slowly forward into the nave, the altar became visible, and in this sacred place of Communion Thora was moving slowly about, leaving beauty and sweetness wherever she lingered. Her appearance gave both men a shock and both expressed it by a spasmodic breath. They spoke not; they watched her slim, white figure pass to-and-fro with soft and reverent steps, arranging violets and white hyacinths with green moss in the exquisite white Wedgewood. Then with a face full of innocent joy she placed it upon the altar, and for a few moments stood with clasped hands, looking at it. As she did so, the organist began to practice his Easter music, and she turned her face towards the organ. Then they saw fully a beautiful, almost childlike face transfigured with celestial emotions. "Let us get out of this," whispered McLeod. "What business have we here? It is a kind of sacrilege." And Ian bowed his head and followed him. But it was some minutes ere the every-day world became present to their senses. McLeod was the first to speak:-- "What an experience!" he sighed. "I should not dare to try it often. It would send me into a monastery." "Are you a Roman Catholic?" "What else would I be? When I was a lad, I used to dream of being a monk. It was power I wanted. I thought then, that priests had more power than any other men; as I grew older I found out that it was money that owned the earth." "Not so!" said Ian sharply, "'the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof.' I promised to be at Mistress Brodie's for dinner at one o'clock. What is the time?" McLeod took out his watch:--"You have twenty minutes," he said. "I was just going to tell you that the girl we saw in the cathedral is her niece." Ian had taken a step or two in the direction of the Brodie house, but he turned his head, and with a bright smile said, "Thank you, Ken!" and McLeod watched him a moment and then with a sigh softly ejaculated: "What a courteous chap he is--when he is in the mood to be courteous--and what a ---- when he is not in the mood." Ian was at the Brodie house five minutes before one, and he found Mistress Brodie waiting for him. "I am glad that you have kept your tryst," she said. "We will just have a modest bite now, and we can make up all that is wanting here, at my brother Coll's, a little later. I have a pleasant invite for yourself. My good sister-in-law has read some of your father's sermons in the Sunday papers and magazines, and for their sake she will be glad to see you. I just promised for you." "Thank you, I shall be glad to go with you," and it was difficult for him to disguise how more than glad he was to have this opportunity. "So then, you will put on the best you have with you--the best is none too good to meet Thora in." "Thora?" "Thora Ragnor, my own niece. She is the bonniest and the best girl in Scotland, if you will take me as a judge of girls. 'Good beyond the lave of girls,' and so Bishop Hadley asked her special to dress the altar for Easter. He knew there would be no laughing and daffing about the work, if Thora Ragnor had the doing of it." "Is there any reason to refrain from laughing and daffing while at that work?" "At God's altar there should be nothing but prayer and praise. You know what girls talk and laugh about. If they have not some poor lad to bring to worship, or to scorn, they have no heart to help their hands; and the work is done silent and snappy. They are wishing they were at home, and could get their straight, yellow hair on to crimping pins, because Laurie or Johnny would be coming to see them, it being Saturday night." "Then the Bishop thought your niece would be more reverent?" "He knew she would. He knew also, that she would not be afraid to be in the cathedral by herself, she would do the work with her own hands, and that there would be no giggling and gossiping and no young lads needed to hold vases and scissors and little balls of twine." Their "moderate bite" was a pleasant lingering one. They talked of people in Edinburgh with whom they had some kind of a mutual acquaintance, and Mistress Brodie did the most of the talking. She was a charming story-teller, and she knew all the good stories about the University and its great professors. This day she spent the time illustrating John Stuart Blackie taking his ease in a dressing gown and an old straw hat. She made you see the man, and Ian felt refreshed and cheered by the mental vision. As for Lord Roseberry, he really sat at their "modest bite" with them. "You know, laddie," she said, "Scotsmen take their politics as if they were the Highland fling; and Roseberry was Scotland's idol. He was an orator who carried every soul with him, whether they wanted to go or not; and I was told by J. M. Barrie, that once when he had fired an audience to the delirium point, an old man in the hall shouted out:--'I dinna hear a word; but it's grand; it's grand!'" They barely touched on Scottish religion. Mistress Brodie easily saw it was a subject her guest did not wish to discuss, and she shut it off from conversation, with the finality of her remark that "some people never understood Scotch religion, except as outsiders misunderstood it. Well, Ian, I will be ready for our visit in about two hours; one hour to rest after eating and a whole hour to dress myself and lecture the lasses anent behaving themselves when they are left to their own idle wishes and wasteful work." "Then in two hours I will be ready to accompany you; and in the meantime I will walk over the moor and smoke a cigar." "No, no, better go down to the beach and watch the puffins flying over the sea, and the terns fishing about the low lying land. Or you might get a sight of an Arctic skua going north, or a black guillemot with a fish in its mouth flying fast to feed its young. The seaside is the place, laddie! There is something going on there constantly." So Ian went to the seaside and found plenty of amusement there in watching a family quarrel among the eider ducks, who were feeding on the young mussels attached to the rocks which a low tide had uncovered. It was a pleasant walk to the Ragnor home, and Rahal and Thora were expecting them. The sitting room was cheery with sunshine and fire glow, Rahal was in afternoon dress and Thora was sitting near the window spinning on the little wheel the marvellously fine threads of wool made from the dwarfish breed of Shetland sheep, and used generally for the knitting of those delicate shawls which rivalled the finest linen laces. On the entrance of her aunt and Ian Macrae she rose and stood by her wheel, until the effusive greetings of the two elder ladies were complete; and Ian was utterly charmed with the picture she made--it was completely different from anything he had ever seen or dreamed about. The wheel was a pretty one, and was inlaid with some bright metal, and when Thora rose from her chair she was still holding a handful of fine snowy wool. Her blue-robed and blue-eyed loveliness appeared to fill the room as she stood erect and smiling, watching her mother and aunt. But when her aunt stepped forward to introduce Ian to her, she turned the full light of her lovely countenance upon him. Then both wondered where they had met before. Was it in dreams only? Mother and aunt were soon deep in the fascinating gossip of an Edinburgh winter season, and Thora and Ian went into the greenhouse and the garden and found plenty to talk about until Conall Ragnor came home from business and supper was served. And the wonder was, that Conall bent to the young man's charm as readily as Thora had done. He was amazed at his shrewd knowledge of business methods and opportunities; and listened to him with grave attention, though laughing heartily at some of his plans and propositions. "Mr. Macrae," he said, "thou art too far north for me. I do know a few Shetlanders that could pare the skin off thy teeth, but we Orcadeans are simple honest folk that just live, and let live." At which remark Ian laughed, and reminded Conall Ragnor of certain transactions in railway stock which had nonplussed the Perth directors at the time. Then Ragnor asked how he happened to know what was generally considered "private information," and Ian answered, "Private information is the most valuable, sir. It is what I look for." Then Ragnor rose from the table and said, "Let us have a smoke and a little music." "Take thy smoke, Coll," said Mrs. Ragnor, "and Mr. Macrae will give us the music. Barbara says he sings better than Harrison. Come, Mr. Macrae, we are waiting to hear thee." Ian made no excuses. He sat down and sang with delightful charm and spirit "A Life on the Ocean Wave" and "The Bay of Biscay." Then these were followed by the fresh and then popular songs, "We May Be Happy Yet," "Then You'll Remember Me" and "The Land of Our Birth." No one spoke or interrupted him, even to praise; but he was well repaid by the look on every face and the kindness that flowed out to him. He could see it in the eyes, and hear it in the voices, and feel it in the manner of all present. The silence was broken by the sound of quick, firm footsteps. Ragnor listened a moment and then went with alacrity to open the door. "I knew it was thee!" he cried. "O sir, I am glad to see thee! Come in, come in! None can be more welcome!" And it was good to hear the strong, sweet modulations of the voice that answered him. "It is Bishop Hedley!" said Rahal. "Then I am going," said Aunt Barbara. "No, no, Aunt!" cried Thora, and the next moment she was at her aunt's side coaxing her to resume her chair. Then the Bishop and Ragnor entered the room, and the moment the Bishop's face shone upon them, all talk about leaving the room ceased. For Bishop Hedley carried his Great Commission in his face and his life was a living sermon. His soul loved all mankind; and he had with it an heroic mind and a strong-sinewed body, which refused to recognise the fact that it died daily. For the Bishop's business was with the souls of men, and he lived and moved and did his daily work in a spiritual and eternal element. And if constant commerce with the physical world weakens and ages the man who lives and works in it, surely the life passed amid spiritual thoughts and desires is thereby fortified and strengthened to resist the cares and worries which fret the physical body to decay. Then vainly the flesh fades, the soul makes all things new. This is a great truth--"it is only by the supernatural we are strong." The Bishop came in bringing with him, not only the moral tonic of his presence, but also the very breath of the sea; its refreshing "tang," and good salt flavour. His smile and blessing was a spiritual sunshine that warmed and cheered and brightened the room. He was affectionate to all, but to Mistress Brodie and Ian Macrae, he was even more kindly than to the Ragnors. They were not of his flock but he longed to take care of them. "I heard singing as I came through the garden," he said, "and it was not your voice, Conall." "It was Ian Macrae singing," Conall answered, "and he will gladly sing for thee, sir." This promise Macrae ratified at once, and that with such power and sweetness that every one was amazed and the Bishop requested him to sing, during the next day's service, a fine "Gloria" he had just given them in the cathedral choir. And Ian said he would see the organist, and if it could be done, he would be delighted to obey his request. "See the organist!" exclaimed Mistress Brodie. "What are you talking about? The organist is Sandy Odd, the barber's son! How can the like of him hinder the Bishop's wish?" Then the Bishop wrote a few words in his pocket book, tore out the leaf, and gave it to Macrae, saying: "Mr. Odd will manage all I wish, no doubt. Now, sir, for my great pleasure, play us 'Home, Sweet Home.' I have not been here for four months, and it is good to be with friends again." And they all sang it together, and were perfectly at home with each other after it. So much so, that the Bishop asked Rahal to give him a cup of tea and a little bread; "I have come from Fair Island today," he said, "and have not eaten since noon." Then all the women went out together to prepare and serve the requested meal, so that it came with wonderful swiftness, and beaming smiles, and charming words of laughing pleasure. And when he saw a little table drawn to the hearth for him and quickly spread with the food he needed and smelled the refreshing odour of the young Hyson, and heard the pleasant tinkle of china and glass and silver as Thora placed them before the large chair he was to occupy, he sat down happily to eat and drink, while Thora served him, and Conall smoked and watched them with a now-and-then smile or word or two, while Rahal and Barbara talked, and Ian played charmingly--with soft pedal down--quotations from Beethoven's "Pastoral Symphony" and "Hark, 'Tis the Linnet!" from the oratorio, "Joshua." It was a delightful interlude in which every one was happy in their own way, and so healed by it of all the day's disappointments and weariness. But the wise never prolong such perfect moments. Even while yielding their first satisfactions, they permit them to depart. It is a great deal to _have been happy_. Every such memory sweetens after life. The Bishop did not linger over his meal, and while servants were clearing away cups and plates, he said, "Come, all of you, outside, for a few minutes. Come and look at the Moon of Moons! The Easter Moon! She has begun to fill her horns; and she is throwing over the mystery and majesty of earth and sea a soft silvery veil as she watches for the dawn. The Easter dawn! that in a few hours will come streaming up, full of light and warmth for all." But there was not much warmth in an Orcadean April evening and the party soon returned to the cheerful, comfortable hearth blaze. "It is not so beautiful as the moonlight," said Rahal, "but it is very good." "True," said the Bishop, "and we must not belittle the good we have, because we look for something better. Let us be thankful for our feet, though they are not wings." Then one of those sudden, inexplicable "arrests" which seem to seal up speech fell over every one, and for a minute or more no one could speak. Rahal broke the spell. "Some angel has passed through the room. Please God he left a blessing! Or perhaps the moonlight has thrown a spell over us. What were you thinking of, Bishop?" "I will tell you. I was thinking of the first Good Friday in Old Jerusalem. I was thinking of the sun hiding his face at noonday. Thora, have you an almanac?" Thora took one from a nail on which it was hanging and gave it to him. "I was thinking that the sun, which hid his face at noonday, must at that time have been in Aries, the Ram. Find me the signs of the Zodiac." Thora did so. "Now look well at Aries the Ram. What month of our year is signed thus?" "The month of March, sir." "Why?" "I do not know. Tell me, sir." "I believe that in a long forgotten age, some priest or good man received a promise or prophecy revealing the Great Sacrifice that would be offered up for man's salvation once and for all time. And I think they knew that this plenary sacrament would occur in the vernal season, in the month of March, whose sign or symbol was Aries, the Ram." "But why under that sign, sir?" "The ram, to the ancient world, was the sacrificial animal. We have only to open our Bibles and be amazed at the prominence given to the ram and his congeners. From the time of Abraham until the time of Christ the ram is constantly present in sacrificial and religious ceremonies. Do you remember, Thora, any incident depending upon a ram?" "When Isaac was to be sacrificed, a ram caught in a thicket was accepted by God in Isaac's place, as a burnt offering." "More than once Abraham offered a ram in sacrifice. In Exodus, Chapter Twenty-ninth, special directions are given for the offering of a ram as a burnt offering to the Lord. In Leviticus, the Eighth Chapter, a bullock is sacrificed for a sin offering but a ram for a burnt offering. In Numbers we are told of _the ram of atonement_ which a man is to offer, when he has done his neighbour an injury. In Ezra, the Tenth, the ram is offered for a trespass because of an unlawful marriage. On the accession of Solomon to the throne one thousand rams with bullocks and lambs were 'offered up with great gladness.' In the Old Testament there are few books in which the sacrificial ram is not mentioned. Even the horn of the ram was constantly in evidence, for it called together all religious and solemn services. "A little circumstance," continued the Bishop, "that pleases me to remember occurred in Glasgow five weeks ago. I saw a crowd entering a large church, and I asked a workingman, who was eating his lunch outside the building, the name of the church; and he answered,--'It's just the auld Ram's Horn Kirk. They are putting a new minister in the pulpit today and they seem weel pleased wi' their choice.' "Now I am going to leave this subject with you. I have only indicated it. Those who wish to do so, can finish the list, for the half has not been told, and indeed I have left the most significant ceremony until the last. It is that wonderful service in the Sixteenth Chapter of Leviticus, where the priest, after making a sin offering of young bullocks and a burnt offering of a ram, casts lots upon two goats for a sin offering, and the goat upon which the lot falls is 'presented alive before the Lord to make an atonement; and to let him go for a scapegoat into the wilderness.'" Then he took from his pocket a little book and said, "Listen to the end of this service, 'And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the Children of Israel, and all their transgressions in all their sins, putting them upon the head of the goat, and shall send him away, by the hand of a fit man into the wilderness. "'And the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities unto a land not inhabited; and he shall let go the goat in the wilderness.' "My friends, this night let all read the Fifty-third of Isaiah, and they will understand how fitting it was that Christ should be 'offered up' in Aries the Ram, the sacrificial month representing the shadows and types of which He was the glorious arch-type." Then there was silence, too deeply charged with feeling, for words. The Bishop himself felt that he could speak on no lesser subject, and his small audience were lost in wonder at the vast panorama of centuries, day by day, century after century, through all of which God had remembered that He had promised He would provide the Great and Final Sacrifice for mankind's justification. Then Aries the Ram would no longer be a promise. It would be a voucher forever that the Promise had been redeemed, and a memorial that His Truth and His mercy endureth forever! At the door the Bishop said to Ragnor, "In a few hours, Friend Conall, it will be Easter Morning. Then we can tell each other '_Christ has risen_!'" And Conall's eyes were full of tears, he could not find his voice, he looked upward and bowed his head. CHAPTER IV SUNNA AND HER GRANDFATHER Love is rich in his own right, He is heir of all the spheres, In his service day and night, Swing the tides and roll the years. What has he to ask of fate? Crown him; glad or desolate. Time puts out all other flames, But the glory of his eyes; His are all the sacred names, His are all the mysteries. Crown him! In his darkest day He has Heaven to give away! --CARL SPENCER. Arms are fair, When the intent for bearing them is just. In the meantime Sunna was spending the evening with her grandfather. The old gentleman was reading, but she did not ask him to read aloud, she knew by the look and size of the book that it would not be interesting; and she was well pleased when one of her maids desired to speak with her. "Well then, Vera, what is thy wish?" "My sister was here and she was bringing me some strange news. About Mistress Brodie she was talking." "Yes, I heard she had come home. Did she bring Thora Ragnor a new Easter gown?" "Of a gown I heard nothing. It was a young man she brought! O so beautiful is he! And like an angel he sings! The Bishop was very friendly with him, and the Ragnors, also; but they, indeed! they are friendly with all kinds of people." "This beautiful young man, is he staying with the Ragnors?" "With Mistress Brodie he is staying, and with her he went to dinner at the Ragnors'. And the Bishop was there and the young man was singing, and a great deal was made of his singing, also they were speaking of his father who is a famous preacher in some Edinburgh kirk, and----" "These things may be so, but how came thy sister to know them?" "This morning my sister took work with Mistress Ragnor and she was waiting on them as they eat; and in and out of the room until nine o'clock. Then, as she went to her own home, she called on me and we talked of the matter, and it seemed to my thought that more might come of it." "Yes, no doubt. I shall see that more does come of it. I am well pleased with thee for telling me." Then she went back to her grandfather and resumed her knitting. Anon, she began to sing. Her face was flushed and her nixie eyes were dancing to the mischief she contemplated. In a few minutes the old gentleman lifted his head, and looked at her. "Sunna," he said, "thy song and thy singing are charming, but they fit not the book I am reading." "Then I will stop singing and thou must talk to me. There has come news, and I want thy opinion on it. The Ragnors had a dinner party today, and we were not asked." "A great lie is that! Conall Ragnor would not give Queen Victoria a party in Lent. Who told thee such foolishness?" Then Sunna retailed the information given her and asked, "What hast thou done to Conall Ragnor? Always before he bid thee to dinner when the Bishop was at his house? Or perhaps the offence is with Rahal Ragnor? Not long ago thou spent an afternoon with her and black and dangerous as a thunder storm thou came home." "This day the dinner was an accidental gathering. Rahal knows well that I have no will to dine with Mistress Brodie. Dost thou want her here, as thy stepmother?" "If Mistress Brodie is not tired of an easy life, she will turn her feet away from this house. If Sunna cannot please thee, thou art in danger of worse happening. Yes, many are guessing who it is thou wilt marry." "And which way runs the guessing?" "Not all one way. For thee, that is not a respectable thing. Thou should not be named with so many old women." "I am of thy opinion. An old woman is little to my mind. If I trust marriage again, I will choose a young girl for my wife--such an one as Treddie Fae, or Thora Ragnor." "Thora Ragnor! Dreaming thou art! I am sure Barbara Brodie has brought this young man here for Thora's approval. Can thou stand against a young man?" "Yes. Adam Vedder and fifty thousand pounds can hand any young man his hat and gloves. Thy father's father is not for thee to make a jest about. So here our talk shall come to an end on this subject. Go to thy bed! Sleep, and the Good Being bless thee!" Sunna was not yet inclined to sleep. She sat down before her mirror, uncoiled her plentiful hair, and carefully brushed and braided it for the night, as she considered the news that had come to her. "This beautiful young man, this singing man, is one of Barbara Brodie's 'finds.' Not much do I think of any of them! That handsome scholar she brought here turned out an unbearable encumbrance. I believe she paid him to go back to Edinburgh. That Aberdeen man, who wanted to invest money in Kirkwall had to borrow two pounds from grandfather to take him back to where he came from. That witty, good-looking Irishman left a big bill at the Castle Hotel for some one to pay; and the woman who wanted to begin a dressmaking business, on the good will of people like Barbara Brodie, knew nothing about dressmaking. This beautiful young man, I'll warrant, is a fish out of the same net. As for the Bishop being taken with his beauty, that is nothing! The poorer a man is, the better Bishop Hedley will like him. So it goes! I wish I knew where Boris Ragnor is--I wish---- "Pshaw! I wonder what kind of a dress Mistress Barbara Brodie brought Thora. Not much taste in either men or clothes has she! Too large will the pattern be, or too strong the colours, and too heavy, or too light, will be the material. I know! And it will not fit her. Too big, or too little it is sure to be! With my own dress I am satisfied. And if grandfather asks no questions about it, I shall count it a lucky dress and save it till Boris comes home. I am going to forgive him when he comes home--perhaps----Now I will put the hopes and worries of this world under my pillow and be off to the Land of Dreams----Tomorrow is Sunday, Easter Sunday--I shall sing the solo in my new dress--that is good, I like a religious feeling in a new dress--I think I am rather a religious girl." Alas for the hopes of all who wanted to dress for Easter. It was an uncompromising, wet day. It was oil skin and rubber for the men; it was cloaks and pattens and umbrellas for the women. Yet, aside from the rain, it was a day full of good things. The cathedral was crowded, there was full cathedral service, and the Bishop preached a transfiguring sermon. The music was good, the home choir did well, and Sunna's solo was effectively sung; but after she had heard Ian Macrae's "Gloria," she was sorry she had sung at all. "Grandfather!" she commented, "No private person has a right to sing as that man sings! After him, non-professionals make a show of themselves." "Thou sang well--better than usual, I thought." "I was told he was such a handsome young man! And he has black hair and black eyes! Even his skin is dark. He looks like a Celt. I don't like Celts. None of our people like them. When they come to the fishing they are not respected." "Thou art much mistaken. Our men like them." "Boris Ragnor says they are poor traders." "Well then, it is to fish they come." "What they come for is no care of mine. Boris is ten times more of a man than the best of them. No notice shall I take of this Celt." "Through thy scorn he may live, and even enjoy his life. The English officers do that." "This chicken is better than might be. Wilt thou have a little more of it?" "Enough is plenty. I have had enough. At Conall Ragnor's there is always good eating and I am going there for my supper. Wilt thou go with me? Then with Thora thou can talk. This beautiful young man is likely at Ragnor's. It was too stormy for Mistress Brodie to go to her own house at the noonday. Dost thou see then, how it will be?" "I will go with thee, I want to see Thora's new dress. I need not notice the young man." "His name? Already I have forgotten it." "Odd was calling him 'Macrae.'" "Macrae! That is Highland Scotch. The Macraes are a good family. There is a famous minister in Edinburgh of that name. The Calvinists all swear by him." "This man sang in a full cathedral service. Dost thou believe a Calvinist would do that? He would be sure it was a disguised mass, and nothing better." Adam laughed as he said, "Well, then, go with me this night to Ragnor's and between us we will find something out. A mystery is not pleasant to thee." "There is something wrong in a mystery, that is what I feel." "Thou can ask Thora all about him." "I shall not ask her. She will tell me." Adam laughed again. "That is the best way," he said. "It was thy father's way. Well then, five minutes ago, the wind changed. By four o'clock it will be fair." "Then I will be ready to go with thee. If I am left alone, I am sad; and that is not good for my health." "But thou must behave well, even to the Celt." "Unless it is worth my while, I do not quarrel with any one." "Was it worth thy while to quarrel with Boris Ragnor?" "Yes--or I had not quarrelled with him." "Here comes the sunshine! Gleam upon gloom! Cheery and good it is!" "They say an Easter dress should be christened with a few drops of rain. That is not my opinion. I like the Easter sunshine on it. Now I shall leave thee and go and rest and dress myself. Very good is thy talk and thy company to me, but to thee, I am foolishness. As I shut the door, the big book thou art reading, thou wilt say to it: 'Now, friend of my soul, some sensible talk we will have together, for that foolish girl has gone to her foolishness at her looking glass.'" "Run away! I am in a hurry for my big book." Sunna shut the door with a kiss--and as she took the stairs with hurrying steps, the sunshine came dancing through the long window, and her feet trod on it and it fell all over her. At four o'clock she was ready for her evening's inquest and she found her grandfather waiting for her. He had put on a light vest and a white tie, and he had that clean, healthy, good-tempered look that pleases all women. He smiled and bowed to Sunna and she deserved the compliment; for she was beautiful and had dressed her beauty most becomingly. Her gown was of Saxony cloth, the exact colour of her hair, with a collar, stomacher and high cuffs of pale green velvet. The collar was tied with cord and small tassels of gold braid; the stomacher laced with gold braid over small gilt buttons, and the high cuffs were trimmed to match. Very handsome gilt combs held up her rippled hair, and a large red-riding-hood cloak covered her from the crowning bow of her hair to the little French pattens that protected her black satin slippers. She expected to make a conquest, and her thoughts were usually the factors of success. A little disappointment awaited her. She was usually shown into the right-hand parlour at once, and she relied on the bit of colour afforded by her scarlet cloak to give life to the modest shades of her spring colours of pale fawn and tender green. But servants were setting the dinner table in the right-hand parlour; and Conall and Rahal and Aunt Barbara had taken themselves to Conall's little business room where there was a bright fire burning. There, in his big chair, Conall was next door to sleeping; and Barbara and Rahal were talking in a sleepy, mysterious way about something that did not appear to interest them. At the sound of Adam Vedder's voice, Conall became wide awake; and Barbara's face lighted up with a fresh interest. If there was nothing else, there was a chronic quarrel between them, which Barbara was ready to lift at a moment's notice. But Sunna was not dissatisfied. Conall's quick look of admiration, and Rahal's and Barbara's glances of surprise, were excellent in their way. She knew she had given them a subject of interest sufficient to make even the hour before dinner appear short. "Where is Thora?" she asked, as she turned every way, apparently to look for Thora, but really to allow her admirers to convince themselves that her dress was trimmed as handsomely at the back as the front--that if the stomacher was perfect in front, the sash of green velvet at the back was quite as stylish and elaborate. "Where _is_ Thora?" she asked again. "In the drawing room thou wilt find Thora with Ian Macrae," said Rahal. "Go to them. They will be glad of thy company." "Doubtful is their gladness. Two are company, three are a crowd. Yet so it is! I must run into danger, like the rest of women." "Is that thy Easter gown, Sunna?" asked Mistress Brodie. "It is. Dost thou like it?" "Who would not like it? The rumour goes abroad that thy grandfather sent to Inverness for it. Others say it came to thee from Edinburgh." "Wrong are both stories. I am happy to say that Sunna Vedder gave herself a dress so pretty and so suitable." With these smiling words she left the room and the elder women shrugged their shoulders and looked expressively at each other. "What can a sensible man like Boris Ragnor see in such a harum-scarum girl!" was Rahal Ragnor's question, and Barbara Brodie thought it was all Adam Vedder's fault. "He ought to have married some sensible woman who would have brought up the girl as girls ought to be brought up," she answered; adding, "We may as well remember that the management of women, at any age, is a business clean beyond Adam Vedder's capabilities." "Adam is a clever man, Barbie." "Book clever! What is the use of book wisdom when you have a live girl, full of her own way, to deal with?" "Conall chose the husbands for his daughters. They were quite suitable to the girls and they have been very happy with them." "Thora will choose for herself." "Perhaps, that may be so. Thora has been spoiled. Her marriage need not yet be thought of. In two or three years, we will consider it. The little one has not yet any dreams of that kind." "Such dreams come in a moment--when you are not thinking of them." In fact, at that very moment Thora was learning the mystery of "falling in love"; and there is hardly a more vital thing in life than this act. For it is something taking place in the subconscious self; it is a revolution, and a growth. It happened that after dinner, Conall wished to hear Ian sing again that loveliest of all metrical Collects, "Lord of All Power and Might," and Thora went with Ian to do her part as accompanist on the piano. As they sang Conall appeared to fall asleep, and no more music was asked for. Then Ian lifted a book full of illustrations of the English lake district, and they sat down on the sofa to examine it. Ian had once been at Keswick and Ambleside, and he began to tell her about Lake Windemere and these lovely villages. He was holding Thora's hand and glancing constantly into her face, and before he recognised what he was saying, Ambleside and Windemere were quite forgotten, and he was telling Thora that he loved her with an everlasting love. He vowed that he had loved her in his past lives, and would love her, and only her, forever. And he looked so handsome and spoke in words of the sweetest tenderness, and indeed was amazed at his own passionate eloquence, but knew in his soul that every word he said was true. And Thora, the innocent little one, was equally sure of his truth. She blushed and listened, while he drew her closer to his side calling her "his own, his very own!" and begging her to promise that she would "marry him, and no other man, in the whole earth." And Thora promised him what he wished and for one-half hour they were in Paradise. Now, how could this love affair have come to perfection so rapidly? Because it was the natural and the proper way. True love dates its birth from the first glance. It is the coming together of two souls, and in their first contact love flashes forth like flame. And then their influence over each other is like that gravitation which one star exerts over another star. But much that passes for love is not love. It is only a prepossession, pleasant and profitable, promising many every-day advantages. True love is a deep and elemental thing, a secret incredible glory, in a way, it is even a spiritual triumph. And we should have another name for love like this. For it is the long, long love, that has followed us through ages, the healing love, the Comforter! In the soul of a young, innocent girl like Thora, it is a kind of piety, and ought to be taken with a wondering thankfulness. An emotion so spiritual and profound was beyond Sunna's understanding. She divined that there had been some sort of love-making, but she was unfamiliar with its present indications. Her opinion, however, was that Ian had offered himself to Thora, and been rejected; in no other way could she account for the far-offness of both parties. Thora indeed was inexplicable. She not only refused to show Sunna her Easter dress, she would not enter into any description of it. "That is a very remarkable thing," she said to her grandfather, as they walked home together. "I think the young man made love to Thora and even asked her to marry him, and Thora was frightened and said 'No!' and she is likely sorry now that she did not say 'Yes.'" "To say 'No!' would not have frightened thee, I suppose?" "That is one of the disagreeable things women have to get used to." "How often must a woman say 'No!' in order to get used to it?" "That depends on several small things; for instance I am very sympathetic. I have a tender heart! Yes, and so I suffer." "I am glad to know of thy sympathy. If I asked thee to marry a young man whom I wished thee to marry, would thou do it--just to please me?" "It would depend--on my mood that day." "Say, it was thy sympathetic mood?" "That would be unfavourable. Of the others I should think, and I should feel that I was cruel; if I took all hope from them." "Thou wilt not be reasonable. I am not joking. Would thou marry Boris to please me?" "Boris has offended me. He must come to me, and say, 'I am sorry.' He must take what punishment I choose for his rudeness to me. Then, I may forgive him." "And marry him?" "Only my angel knows, if it is so written. Men do not like to do as their women say they must do. Is there any man in the Orcades who dares to say 'No,' to his wife's 'Yes?'" "What of Sandy Stark?" "Sandy is a Scot! I do not use a Scotch measure for a Norseman. Thou art not a perfect Norseman, but yet, even in Edinburgh, there is no Scot that could be thy measure. I should have to say--'thou art five inches taller than the Scot at thy side, and forty pounds heavier, and nearly twice as strong.' That would not be correct to an ounce, but it is as near as it is possible to come between Norse and Scot." "Thou art romancing!" "As for the Norse women----" "About Norse women there is no need for thee to teach thy grandfather. I know what Norse women are like. If I did not know, I should have married again." "Well then, Barbara Brodie is a good specimen of a capable Norse woman and I have noticed one thing about them, that I feel ought to be better understood." "Chut! What hast thou understood? Talk about it, and let thy wisdom be known." "Well then, it is this thing--Norse women always outlive their husbands. Thou may count by tens and hundreds the widows in this town. The 'maidens of blushing fifteen' have no opportunities; the widow of fifty asks a young man into her beautiful home and makes him acquainted with the burden of her rents and dividends and her share in half a dozen trading boats, and he takes to the golden lure and marries himself like the rest of the world. Thou would have been re-married long ago but for my protection. I have had a very disagreeable day and----" "Then go to thy bed and put an end to it." "My new dress is crushed and some way or other I have got a spot on the front breadth. Is it that Darwin book thou art looking for?" "Yes." "Would thou like to read a chapter to me?" "No, I would not." "Grandfather, I can understand it. I like clever men. Can thou introduce me to him--to Darwin?" "He would not care to see thee. Clever men do not want clever wives; so if thou art thinking of a clever husband keep thy 'blue stockings' well under thy petticoats." "And grandfather, do thou keep out of the way of the widows of Orkney or thou wilt find thyself inside of a marriage ring." "Not while thou remains unmarried. Few women would care to look after thy welfare. I am used to it, long before thou had been short-coated, I had to walk thee to sleep in my arms." "Yes," laughed Sunna, "I remember that. I felt myself safest with thee." "Thou remembers nothing of the kind. At six months old, thou could neither compare nor remember." "But thou art mistaken. I was born with perfect senses. Ere I was twenty-four hours old, I had selected thee as the most suitable person to walk me to sleep. I think that was a proof of my perfect intelligence. One thing more, and then I will let thee read. I am going to marry Boris Ragnor, and then the widow Brodie would--take charge of thee." She shut the door to these words and Adam heard her laughing all the way to her own room. Then he rubbed his hand slowly over and over his mouth and said to himself--"She shall have her say-so; Boris is the only man on the Islands who can manage her." After the departure of the Vedders, Rahal and her sister Brodie went upstairs, taking Thora with them. She went cheerfully though a little reluctantly. She liked to hear Ian talk. She had thought of asking him to sing; but she was satisfied with the one straight, long look which flashed between them, as Ian bid her "good night"; for-- He looked at her as a lover can; She looked at him as one who awakes, The past was a sleep and her life began. Then she went to her room, and thought of Ian until she fell asleep and dreamed of him. For nearly two hours Ian remained with Conall Ragnor. The Railway Mania was then at its height in England, and the older man was delighted with Ian's daring stories of its mad excitement. Ian had seen and talked with Hudson, the draper's clerk, who had just purchased a fine ducal residence and estate from the results of his reckless speculations. Ian knew all the Scotch lines, he had even full faith in the _Caledonian_ when it was first proposed and could hardly win any attention. "Every one said a railway between England and Scotland would not pay, Mr. Ragnor," said Ian. "I would have said very different," replied Conall. "It would be certain to pay. Why not?" "Because there would be _no returns_," laughed Ian, and then Conall laughed also, and wished that Boris had been there to learn whatever Ian might teach him. "Hast thou speculated in railway stock yet," he asked. "No, sir. I have not had the money to do so." "How would thou buy if thou had?" "I would buy when no one else was buying, and when everyone else was buying, I would keep cool, and sell. A very old and clever speculator gave me that advice as a steady rule, saying it was 'his only guide.'" This was the tenor of the men's conversation until near midnight, and then Ragnor went with Ian to the door of his room and bid him a frank and friendly good night. And as he stood a moment handfast with the youth, his conscience troubled him a little and he said: "Ian, Ian, thou art a wise lad about this world's business, but thou must not be forgetting that there is another world after this." "I do not forget that, sir." "Bishop Hedley is a greater and wiser man than all the railway nabobs thou hast spoken of." "I think so, sir! I do indeed!" and the mutual smile and nod that followed required no further "good night." It was a lovely, silent night. The very houses looked as if they were asleep; and there was not a sound either in the town on the brown pier or the moonlit sea. It was a night full of the tranquillity of God. Men and women looked into its peace, and carried its charm into their dreams. For most fine spirits that dwell by the sea have an elemental sympathy with strange oracles and dreams and old Night. In the morning, Conall Ragnor was the first to awaken. He went at once to fling open his window. Then he cried out in amazement and wonder, and awakened his wife:-- "Rahal! Rahal!" he shouted. "Come here! Come quick! Look at the town! It is hung with flags. The ships in the harbour--flying are their flags also! And there is a ship just entering the harbour and her colours are flying! And there are the guns! They are saluting her from the garrison! It must be a man-of-war! I wonder if the Queen is coming to see us at last! If thou art ready, call Thora and Barbara. Something is up! Thou may hear the town now, all tip-on-top with excitement!" "Why did not thou call us sooner, Coll?" "I slept late and long." "But thou must have heard the town noises?" "A confused noise passed through my ears, a noise full of hurry like a morning dream, that was all. Now, I am going for my swim and I will bring the news home with me." But long before it was within expectation of Ragnor's return, the three women standing at the open door saw Ian coming rapidly to the house from the town. His walk was swift and full of excitement. His head was thrown upward, and he kept striking himself on the right side, just over the place where his ancestors had worn their dirks or broadswords. As soon as he saw the three women he flung his Glengarry skyward and shouted a ringing "Hurrah!" As he approached them, all were struck with his remarkable beauty, his manly figure, his swift graceful movements and his handsome face suffused with the brightness of fiery youth. Through their long black lashes his eyes were shining and glowing and full of spirit, and indeed his whole personality was instinct with verve and fire. Anyone watching his approach would have said--"Here comes a youth made to lead a rattling charge of cavalry." "Whatever is the matter with you, Ian?" cried Mistress Brodie. "You are surely gone daft." "No indeed!" he answered. "I seem at this very hour to have just found myself and my senses." "What is all the fuss about, Ian?" asked Rahal. "England has gone to war at the long last with the cruel, crafty black Bear of the North." "Well then, it is full time she did so, there are none will say different." "And," continued Ian, "there is a ship now in harbour carrying enlisting officers--you may see her; she is to call at the Orkney and Shetland Islands for recruits for the navy, and Great Scot! she will get them! All she wants! She could take every man out of Kirkwall!" "The Mayor and Captain Ragnor will not permit her to do so. She will have to leave men to manage the fishing," said Rahal. "I thought the women could do that," said Ian. "You do not know what you are talking about. It takes two or three men to lift a net full of fish out of the water, and they are about done up if they manage it. Come in and get your breakfast. If your news be true, there is no saying when Ragnor will get home. He will have some reasoning with his men to do, he cannot spare many of them." "I have a good idea," said Mistress Brodie. "I will give a dance on Friday night for the enlisting officers, and we will invite all the presentable young men, and all the prettiest girls, to meet them." "But you will be too late on Friday. The cutter and her crew will leave Thursday morning early," said Ian. "Then say Wednesday night." "That might do. I could tell the men freshly enlisted to wear a white ribbon in their coats----" "No, no, no!" cried Rahal. "What are you saying, Ian? A white favour is a Stuart favour. You would set the men fighting in the very dance room. There is no excuse in the Orkneys for a Stuart memory." "I was not thinking of the Stuarts. Have they not done bothering yet?" "In the Scotch heart the Stuart lives forever," said Rahal, with a sigh. But the dance was decided on and some preparations made for it as soon as breakfast was over. Ian was enthusiastic on the matter and Thora caught his enthusiasm very readily, and before night, all Kirkwall was preparing to feast and rejoice because England was going to make the great Northern Bear--"the Bear that walks like a man"--stay in the North where he belonged. CHAPTER V SUNNA AND THORA Love, the old, old troubler of the world. Love has reasons, of which reason knows nothing. Alas, how easily things go wrong! A sigh too much, or a kiss too long, And there follows a mist and a weeping rain And life is never the same again. No sooner was Mrs. Brodie's intention known, than all her friends were eager to help her. There was truly but little time between Monday morning and Wednesday night; but many hands make light work, and old and young offered their services in arranging for what it pleased all to consider as a kind of national thanksgiving. The unanimity of this kindness gave Rahal a slight attack of a certain form of jealousy, to which she had been subject for many years, and she asked her husband, as she had done often before, "Why is it, Coll, that every woman in the town is eager to help and encourage Barbara if she only speaks of having a dance or dinner; but if I, thy wife, am the giver of pleasure, I am left to do all without help or any show of interest. It troubles me, Coll." And Coll answered as he always did answer--"It is thy superiority, Rahal. Is there any woman we know, who would presume to give thee advice or counsel? And it is well understood by all of them that thou cannot thole an obligation. Thou, and thy daughter, and thy servants are sufficient for all thy social plans; and why should thou be bothered with a lot of old and young women? Thy sister Brodie loves a crowd about her, and she says 'thank thee' to all and sundry, as easily as she takes a drink of water. It chokes thee to say 'thanks' to any one." So Rahal was satisfied, and went with the rest to help Mistress Brodie prepare for her dance. There were women in the kitchen making pies and custards and jellies, and women in her parlours cleaning and decorating them, and women in the great hall taking up carpets because it was a favourite place for reels, and women washing China and trimming lamps. Thora was doing the shopping, Ian was carrying the invitations; and every one who had been favoured with one had not only said "Yes," but had also asked if there was anything they could loan, or do, to help the impromptu festival. Thus, Mrs. Harold Baikie sent her best service of China, and the Faes sent several extra large lamps, and the bride of Luke Serge loaned her whole supply of glassware, and Rahal took over her stock of table silver; and Mistress Brodie received every loan--useful or not--with the utmost delight and satisfaction. On Wednesday afternoon, however, she was faced by a condition she did not know how to manage. Ian came to her in a hurry, saying, "My friend, McLeod, is longing for an invitation from you, and he has asked me to request one. Surely you will send him the favour! Yes, I know you will." "You are knowing too much, Ian. What can I do? You know well, laddie, he is not popular with the best set here." "I would not mind the 'best set' if I were you. What makes them 'the best'? Just their own opinion of themselves. McLeod is of gentle birth, he is handsome and good-hearted, you will like him as soon as you speak to him. There is another 'best set' beside the one Adam Vedder leads; I would like some one to take down that old man's conceit of himself--there is nothing wrong with McLeod! Yes, he is Highland Scotch----" "There! that is enough, Ian! Go your ways and bid the young man. Ask him in your own name." "No, Mistress, I will not do that. The invitation carries neither honour nor good will without your name." "Well then, my name be it. My name has been so much used lately, I think I will change it." "Take my name then. I will be proud indeed if you will." "You are aye daffing, Ian; I am o'er busy for nonsense the now. Give the Mac a hint that tartans are not necessary." "But I cannot do that. I am going to wear the Macrae tartan." "You can let that intent go by." "No, I can not! A certain 'yes' may depend on my wearing the Macrae tartan." "Well, checked cloth is bonnier than black broadcloth to some people. I don't think Thora Ragnor is among that silly crowd. There is not a more quarrelsome dress than a tartan kilt--and I'm thinking the Brodies were ill friends with the Macraes in the old days." "The Brodies are not Highlanders." "You are a shamefully ignorant man, Ian Macrae. The Brodies came from Moray, and are the only true lineal descendants of Malcolm Thane of Brodie in the reign of Alexander the Third, lawful King of Scotland. What do you think of the Brodies now?" "The Macrae doffs his bonnet to them; but----" "If you say another word, the McLeod will be out of it--sure and final." So Ian laughingly left the room, and Mistress Brodie walked to the window and watched him speeding towards the town. "He is a wonderful lad!" she said to herself. "And I wish he was my lad! Oh why were all my bairns lasses? They just married common bodies and left me! Oh for a lad like Ian Macrae!" Then with a great sigh, she added: "It is all right. I would doubtless have spoiled and mismanaged him!" It is not to be supposed that Sunna Vedder kept away from all this social stir and preparation. She was first and foremost in everything during Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday she reserved herself altogether for the evening. No one saw her until the noon hour; then she came to the dinner table, for she had an entirely fresh request to make, one which she was sure would require all her personal influence to compass. She prefaced it with the intelligence that Boris had arrived during the night, and that Elga had met him in the street--"looking more handsome than any man ought to look, except upon his wedding day." "And on that day," said Adam, gloomily, "a man has generally good cause to look ugly." "But if he was going to marry me, Grandfather, how then?" "He would doubtless look handsome. Men usually do when they are on the road of destruction." "Grandfather! I have made up my mind to marry Boris, and lead him the way I want him to go. That will always be the way thou chooseth." "How comes that?" "I loved thee first of all. I shall always love thee first. Boris played me false, I must pay him back. I must make him suffer. Those Ragnors--all of them--put on such airs! They make me sick." "What art thou after? What favour art thou seeking?" "Thou knows how the girls will try to outdress each other at this Brodie affair----" "It is too late for a new dress--what is it thou wants now?" "I want thee to go to the bank and get me my mother's necklace to wear just this one night." "I will not. I gave thy dead mother a promise." "Break it, for a few hours. My Easter dress is not a dancing dress. I have no dancing dress but the pretty white silk thou gave me last Christmas--and I have no ornaments at all--none whatever, fit to wear with it." "There are always flowers----" "Flowers! There is not a flower in Kirkwall. Easter and old Mistress Brodie have used up every daisy--besides, white silk ought to have jewels." Adam shook his head positively. "My mother wishes me to have what I want. Thou ought not to keep it from me." "She told me to give thee her necklace on thy twenty-first birthday--not before." "That is so silly! What better is my twenty-first birthday than any other day? Grandfather, I cannot love thee more, because my love for thee is already a perfect love; but I will be such a good girl if thou wilt give me what I want, O so much I want it! I will be so obedient! I will do everything thou desires! I will even marry Boris Ragnor." And this urgent request was punctuated with kisses and little fondling strokes of her hand, and Adam finally asked-- "How shall I answer thy mother when she accuses me of breaking my promise to her?" "I will answer for thee. O dear! It is growing late! If thou dost not hurry, the bank will be closed, and then I shall be sick with disappointment, and it will be thy fault." Then Adam rose and left the house and Sunna, having seen that he took the proper turn in the road, called for a cup of tea and having refreshed herself with it, went upstairs to lay out and prepare everything for her toilet. And as she went about this business she continually justified herself:-- "It is only natural I should have my necklace," she thought. "Norse women have always adored gold and silver and gems, and in the old days their husbands sailed long journeys and fought battles for what their women wanted. My great Aunt Christabelle often told me that many of the old Shetland and Orkney families had gold ornaments and uncut gems, hundreds of years old, hid away. I would not wonder if Grandfather has some! I dare say the bank's safe is full of them! I do not care for them but I do want my mother's wedding necklace--and I am going to have it. Right and proper it is, I should have it now. Mother would say so if she were here. Girls are women earlier than they were in her day. Twenty-one, indeed! I expect to be married long before I am twenty-one." In less than an hour she began to watch the road for her grandfather's return. Very soon she saw him coming and he had a small parcel in his hand. Her heart gave a throb of satisfaction and she began to unplait her manifold small braids: "I shall not require to go to bed," she murmured. "Grandfather has my necklace. He will want to take it back to the bank tomorrow--I shall see about that--I promised--yes, I know! But there are ways--out of a promise." She was, of course, delightfully grateful to receive the necklace, and Vedder could not help noticing how beautiful her loosened hair looked. Its length and thickness and waves of light colour gave to her stately, blonde beauty a magical grace, and Vedder was one of those men who admire the charms of his own family as something naturally greater than the same charms in any other family. "The Vedders carry their beauty with an air," he said, and he was right. The Vedders during the course of a few centuries of social prominence had acquired that air of superiority which impresses, and also frequently offends. Certainly, Sunna Vedder in white silk and a handsome necklace of rubies and diamonds was an imposing picture; and Adam Vedder, in spite of his sixty-two years, was an imposing escort. It would be difficult to say why, for he was a small man in comparison with the towering Norsemen by whom he was surrounded. Yet he dominated and directed any company he chose to favour with his presence; and every man in Kirkwall either feared or honoured him. Sunna had much of his natural temperament, but she had not the driving power of his cultivated intellect. She relied on her personal beauty and the many natural arts with which Nature has made women a match for any antagonist. Had she not heard her grandfather frequently say "a beautiful woman is the best armed creature that God has made! She is as invincible as a rhinoceros!" This night he had paid great attention to his own toilet. He was fashionably attired, neat as a new pin, and if not amiable, at least exceedingly polite. He had leaning on his arm what he considered the most beautiful creature in Scotland, and he assumed the manners of her guardian with punctilious courtesy. There was a large company present when the Vedders reached Mrs. Brodie's--military men, a couple of naval officers, gentlemen of influence, and traders of wealth and enterprise; with a full complement of women "divinely tall and fair." Sunna made the sensation among them she expected to make. There was a sudden pause in conversation and every eye filled itself with her beauty. For just a moment, it seemed as if there was no other person present. Then Mrs. Brodie and Colonel Belton came to meet them, and Sunna was left in the latter's charge. "Will you now dance, Miss Vedder?" he asked. "Let us first walk about a little, Colonel. I want to find my friend, Thora Ragnor." "I have long desired an introduction to Miss Ragnor. Is she not lovely?" "Yes, but now only for one man. A stranger came here last week, and she was captured at once." "How remarkable! I thought that kind of irresponsible love had gone quite out of favour and fashion." "Not so! This youth came, saw, and conquered." "Is it the youth I see with Ken McLeod?" "The same. Look! There they are, together as usual." "She is very sweet and attractive." Sunna answered this remark by asking Thora to honour Colonel Belton with her company for a short time, saying: "In the interval I will take care of Ian Macrae." Then Thora stood up in her innocence and loveliness and she was like some creature of more ethereal nature than goes with flesh and blood. For the eye took her in as a whole, and at first noticed neither her face nor her dress in particular. Her dress was only of white tarlatan, a thin, gauze-like material long out of fashion. It is doubtful if any woman yet remembers its airy, fairy sway, and graceful folds. The filmy robe, however, was plentifully trimmed with white satin ribbon, and the waist was entirely of satin trimmed with tarlatan. The whole effect was girlish and simple, and Thora needed no other ornament but the pink and white daisies at her belt. However, if Sunna expected Thora's manner and conversation to match the simplicity of her dress, she was disappointed. In Love's school women learn with marvellous rapidity, and Thora astonished her by falling readily into a conversation of the most up-to-date social character. She had caught the trick from Ian, a little playful fencing round the most alluring of subjects, yet it brought out the simplicity of her character, while it also revealed its purity and intelligence. Dancing had commenced when Mrs. Ragnor entered the room on the arm of her son Boris. Boris instantly looked around for Sunna and she was dancing with McLeod. All the evening afterwards Boris danced, but never once with Sunna, and Adam Vedder watched the young man with scorn. He was the most desirable party in the room for any girl and he quite neglected the handsome Sunna Vedder. That was not his only annoyance. McLeod was dancing far too often with Sunna, and even the beautiful youth Ian Macrae had only asked her hand once; and Adam was sure that Thora Ragnor had been the suggester of that act of politeness. Girls far inferior to Sunna in every respect had received more attention than his granddaughter. He was greatly offended, but he appeared to turn his back on the whole affair and to be entirely occupied in conversation with Conall Ragnor and Colonel Belton concerning the war with Russia. Every way the evening was to Sunna a great disappointment, in many respects she felt it to be a great humiliation; and the latter feeling troubled her more for her grandfather than for herself. She knew he was mortified, for he did not speak to her as they walked through the chill, damp midnight to their home. Mrs. Brodie had urged Adam and Sunna to put the night past at her house, but Adam had been proof against all her suggestions, and even against his own desires. So he satisfied his temper by walking home and insisting on Sunna doing likewise. It was a silent, unhappy walk. Adam said not a word to Sunna and she would not open the way for his anger to relieve itself. When they reached home they found a good fire in the room full of books which Adam called his own, and there they went. Then Sunna let her long dress fall down, and put out her sandalled feet to the warmth of the fire. Adam glanced into her face and saw that it was full of trouble. "Go to thy bed, Sunna," he said. "Of this night thou must have had enough." "I have had too much, by far. If only thou loved me!" "Who else do I love? There is none but thee." "Then with some one thou ought to be angry." "Is it with Boris Ragnor I should be angry?" "Yes! It is with Boris Ragnor. Not once did he ask me to dance. Watching him and me were all the girls. They saw how he slighted me, and made little nods and laughs about it." "It was thy own fault. When Boris came into the room, he looked for thee. With McLeod thou wert dancing. With that Scot thou wert dancing! The black look on his face, I saw it, thou should have seen it and have given him a smile--Pshaw! Women know so much--and do so little. By storm thou ought to have taken the whole affair for thy own. I am disappointed in thee--yes, I am disappointed." "Why, Grandfather?" "An emergency thou had to face, and thou shirked it. When Boris entered the room, straight up to him thou should have gone; with an outstretched hand and a glad smile thou should have said: 'I am waiting for thee, Boris!' Then thou had put all straight that was crooked, and carried the evening in thy own hands." "I will pay Boris for this insult. Yes, I will, and thou must help me." "To quarrel with Boris? To injure him in any way? No! that I will not do. It would be to quarrel also with my old friend Conall. Not thee! Not man or woman living, could make me do that! Sit down and I will tell thee a better way." "No, I will not sit down till thou say 'yes' to what I ask"; for some womanly instinct told her that while Adam was cowering over the hearth blaze and she stood in all her beauty and splendour above him, she controlled the situation. "Thou must help me!" "To what or whom?" "I want to marry Boris." "Dost thou love him?" "Better than might be. When mine he is all mine, then I will love him." "That is little to trust to." "Thou art wrong. It is of reasons one of the best and surest. Not three months ago, a little dog followed thee home, an ugly, half-starved little mongrel, not worth a shilling; but it was determined to have thee for its master, and thou called it thy dog, and now it is petted and pampered and lies at thy feet, and barks at every other dog, and thou says it is the best dog on the Island. It is the same way with husbands. Thou hast seen how Mary Minorie goes on about her bald, scrimpy husband; yet she burst out crying when he put the ring on her finger. Now she tells all the girls that marriage is 'Paradise Regained.' When Boris is my husband it will be well with me, and not bad for him. He will be mine, and we love what is our own." "Why wilt thou marry any man? Thou wilt be rich." "One must do as the rest of the world does--and the world has the fashion of marrying." "Money rules love." "No!" "Yes! Bolon Flett had only scorn for his poor little wife until her uncle left her two thousand pounds. Since then, no word is long enough or good enough for her excellencies. Money opens the eyes as well as the heart. What then, if I make Boris rich?" "Boris is too proud to take money from thee and I will not be sold to any man!" "Wilt thou wait until my meaning is given thee--flying off in a temper like a foolish woman!" "I am sorry--speak thy meaning." "Sit down. Thou art not begging anything." "Not from thee. I have thy love." "And thine is mine. This is my plan. Above all things Boris loves a stirring, money-making business. I am going to ask him to take me as his partner. Tired am I of living on my past. How many boats has Boris?" "Thou knowest he has but one, but she is large and swift, and does as much business as McLeod's three little sloops." "Schooners." "Schooners, then--little ones!" "Well then, there is a new kind of boat which thou hast never seen. She is driven by steam, not wind, she goes swiftly, all winds are fair to her, and she cares little for storms." "I saw a ship like that when I was in Edinburgh. She lay in Leith harbour, and the whole school went to Leith to see her come in." "If Boris will be my partner, I will lay my luck to his, and I will buy a steam ship, a large coaster--dost thou see?" Then with a laugh she cried: "I see, I see! Then thou can easily beat the sloops or schooners, that have nothing but sails. Good is that, very good!" "Just so. We can make two trips for their one. No one can trade against us." "McLeod may buy steam ships." "I have learned all about him. His fortune is in real estate, mostly in Edinburgh. It takes a lifetime to sell property in Edinburgh. We shall have got all there is to get before McLeod could compete with Vedder and Ragnor." "That scheme would please Boris, I know." "A boat could be built on the Clyde in about four months, I think. Shall I speak to Boris?" "Yes, Boris will not fly in the face of good fortune; but mind this--it is easier to begin that reel than it will be to end it. One thing I do not like--thou wert angry with Boris, now thou wilt take him for a partner." "At any time I can put my anger under my purse--but my anger was mostly against thee. Now shall I do as I am minded?" "That way is more likely than not! I think this affair will grow with thee--but thou may change thy mind----" "I do not call my words back. Go now to thy bed and forget everything. This is the time when sleep will be better than either words or deeds. Of my intent speak to _no one_. In thy thoughts let it be still until its hour arrives." "In the morning, very early, I am going to see Thora. When the enlisting ship sails northward, there will be a crowd to see her off. Boris and Thora and Macrae will be among it. I also intend to be there. Dost thou know at what hour she will leave?" "At ten o'clock the tide is full." "Then at ten, she will sail." "Likely enough, is that. Our talk is now ended. Let it be, as if it had not been." "I have forgotten it." Vedder laughed, and added: "Go then to thy bed, I am tired." "Not tired of Sunna?" "Well then, yes, of thee I have had enough at present." She went away as he spoke, and then he was worried. "Now I am unhappy!" he ejaculated. "What provokers to the wrong way are women! Her mother was like her--my beloved Adriana!" And his old eyes filled with sorrowful tears as he recalled the daughter he had lost in the first days of her motherhood. Very soon Sunna and Adriana became one and he was fast asleep in his chair. In the morning Sunna kept her intention. She poured out her grandfather's coffee, and talked of everything but the thing in her heart and purpose. After breakfast she said: "I shall put the day past with Thora Ragnor. Thy dinner will be served for thee by Elga." "Talking thou wilt be----" "Of nothing that ought to be kept quiet. Do not come for me if I am late; I intend that Boris shall bring me home." Sunna dressed herself in a pretty lilac lawn frock, trimmed with the then new and fashionable Scotch open work, and fresh lilac ribbons. Her hair was arranged as Boris liked it best, and it was shielded by one of those fine, large Tuscan hats that have never, even yet, gone out of fashion. "Why, Sunna!" cried Thora, as she hastened to meet her friend, "how glad am I to see thee!" "Thou wert in my heart this morning, and I said to it 'Be content, in an hour I will take thee to thy desire.'" And they clasped hands, and walked thus into the house. "Art thou not tired after the dance?" "No," replied Thora, "I was very happy. Do happy people get tired?" "Yes--one can only bear so much happiness, then it is weariness--sometimes crossness. Too much of any good thing is a bad thing." "How wise thou art, Sunna." "I live with wisdom." "With Adam Vedder?" "Yes, and thou hast been living with Love, with Mr. Macrae. Very handsome and good-natured he is. I am sure that thou art in love with him! Is that not the case?" "Very much in love with me he is, Sunna. It is a great happiness. I do not weary of it, no, indeed! To believe in love, to feel it all around you! It is wonderful! You know, Sunna--surely you know?" "Yes, I, too, have been in love." "With Boris--I know. And also Boris is in love with thee." "That is wrong. No longer does Boris love me." "But that is impossible. Love for one hour is love forever. He did love thee, then he could not forget. Never could he forget." "He did not notice me last night. Thou must have seen?" "I did not notice--but I heard some talk about it. The first time thou art alone with him, he will tell thee his trouble. It is only a little cloud--it will pass." "I suppose the enlisting ship sails northaway first?" "Yes, to Lerwick, though they may stop at Fair Island on the way. Boris says they could get many men there--and Boris knows." "Art thou going to the pier to see them leave? I suppose every one goes. Shall we go together?" "Why, Sunna! They left this morning about four o'clock. Father went down to the pier with Boris. Boris sailed with them." "Thora! Thora! I thought Boris was to remain here until the naval party returned from Shetland?" "The lieutenant in command thought Boris could help the enlisting, for in Lerwick Boris has many friends. Thou knows my sisters Anna and Nenie live in Lerwick. Boris was fain to go and see them." "But they will return here when their business is finished in Lerwick?" "They spoke of doing so, but mother is not believing they will return. They took with them all the men enlisted here and the men are wanted very much. Boris did not bid us a short 'good-bye.' Mother was crying, and when he kissed me his tears wet my cheeks." Sunna did not answer. For a few minutes she felt as if her heart had suddenly died. At last she blundered out: "I suppose the officer was afraid that--Boris might slip off while he was away." "Well, then, thou supposes what is wrong. When a fight is the question, Boris needs no one either to watch him or to egg him on." "Is that youngster, Macrae, going to join? Or has he already taken the Queen's shilling? I think I heard such a report." "No one could have told that story. Macrae is bound by a contract to McLeod for this year and indeed, just yet, he does not wish to go." "He does not wish to leave thee." "That is not out of likelihood." "Many are saying that England is in great stress, and my grandfather thinks that so she is." "My father says 'not so.' If indeed it were so, my father would have gone with Boris. Mother is cross about it." "About what then is she cross?" asked Sunna. "People are saying that England is in stress. Mother says such words are nothing but men's 'fear talk.' England's sons are many, and if few they were, she has millions of daughters who would gladly fight for her!" said Thora. "Well, then, for heroics there is no present need! I surely thought Boris loved his business and would not leave his money-making." "Could thou tell me what incalculable sum of money a man would take for his honour and patriotism?" asked Thora. "What has honour to do with it?" "Everything; a man without honour is not a man--he is just 'a body'; he has no soul. Robert Burns told Andrew Horner how such men were made!" replied Thora. "How was that? Tell me! A Burns' anecdote will put grandfather in his finest temper, and I want him in that condition for I have a great favour to ask from him." "The tale tells that when Burns was beginning to write, he had a rival in a man called Andrew Horner. One day they met at the same club dinner, and they were challenged to each write a verse within five minutes. The gentlemen guests took out their watches, the poets were furnished with pencils and paper. When time was up Andrew Horner had not written the first line but Burns handed to the chairman his verse complete." "Tell me. If you know it, tell me, Thora!" "Yes, I know it. If you hear it once you do not forget it." "Well then?" "It runs thus: "'Once on a time The Deil gat stuff to mak' a swine And put it in a corner; But afterward he changed his plan And made it summat like a man, And ca'ed it Andrew Horner.'" "That is good! It will delight grandfather." "No doubt he already knows it." "No, I should have heard it a thousand times, if he knew it." "Well, then, I believe it has been suppressed. Many think it too ill-natured for Burns to have written; but my father says it has the true Burns ring and is Robert Burns' writing without doubt." "It will give grandfather a nice long job of investigation. That is one of his favourite amusements, and all Sunna has to do is to be sure he is right and everybody else wrong. Now I will go home." "Stay with me today." "No. Macrae will be here soon." "Uncertain is that." "Every hair on thy head, Thora, every article of thy dress, from the lace at thy throat to the sandals on thy feet, say to me that this is a time when my absence will be better than my company." "Well, then, do as thou art minded." "It is best I do so. A happy morning to thee! What more is in my heart shall lie quiet at this time." Sunna went away with the air of a happy, careless girl, but she said many angry words to herself as she hasted on the homeward road. "Most of the tales tell how women are made to suffer by the men they love--but no tale shall be made about Sunna Vedder! _No!_ _No!_ It is Boris Ragnor I shall turn into laughter--he has mocked my very heart--I will never forgive him--that is the foolish way all women take--all but Sunna Vedder--she will neither forgive nor forget--she will follow up this affair--yes!" By such promises to herself she gradually regained her usual reasonable poise, and with a smiling face sought her grandfather. She found him in his own little room sitting at a table covered with papers. He looked up as she entered and, in spite of his intention, answered her smile and greeting with an equal plentitude of good will and good temper. "But I thought then, that thou would stay with thy friend all day, and for that reason I took out work not to be chattered over." "I will go away now. I came to thee because things have not gone as I wanted them. Thy counsel at such ill times is the best that can happen." Then Vedder threw down his pencil and turned to her. "Who has given thee wrong or despite or put thee out of the way thou wanted to take?" "It is Boris Ragnor. He has sailed north with the recruiting company--without a word to me he has gone. He has thrown my love back in my face. Should thy grandchild forgive him? I am both Vedder and Fae. How can I forgive?" Vedder took out his watch and looked at the time. "We have an hour before dinner. Sit down and I will talk to thee. First thou shalt tell me the very truth anent thy quarrel with Boris. What did thou do, or say, that has so far grieved him? Now, then, all of it. Then I can judge if it be Boris or Sunna, that is wrong in this matter." "Listen then. Boris heard some men talking about me--that made his temper rise--then he heard from these men that I was dancing at McLeod's and he went there to see, and as it happened I was dancing with McLeod when he entered the room, and he walked up to me in the dance and said thou wanted me, and he made me come home with him and scolded me all the time we were together. I asked him not to tell thee, and he promised he would not--if I went there no more. I have not danced with McLeod since, except at Mrs. Brodie's. Thou saw me then." "Thou should not have entered McLeod's house--what excuse hast thou for that fault?" "Many have talked of the fault, none but thou have asked me why or how it came that I was so foolish. I will tell thee the very truth. I went to spend the day with Nana Bork--with thy consent I went--and towards afternoon there came an invitation from McLeod to Nana to join an informal dance that night at eight o'clock. And Nana told me so many pleasant things about these little dances I could not resist her talk and I thought if I stayed with Nana all night thou would never know. I have heard that I stole away out of thy house to go to McLeod's. I did not! I went with Nana Bork whose guest I was." "Why did thou not tell me this before?" "I knew no one in Kirkwall would dare to say to thee this or that about thy grandchild, and I hoped thou would never know. I am sorry for my disobedience; it has always hurt me--if thou forgive it now, so much happier I will be." Then Adam drew her to his side and kissed her, and words would have been of all things the most unnecessary. But he moved a chair close to him, and she sat down in it and laid her hand upon his knee and he clasped and covered it with his own. "Very unkindly Boris has treated thee." "He has mocked at my love before all Kirkwall. Well, then, it is Thora Ragnor's complacency that affronts me most. If she would put her boasting into words, I could answer her; but who can answer looks?" "She is in the heaven of her first love. Thou should understand that condition." "It is beyond my understanding; nor would I try to understand such a lover as Ian Macrae. I believe that he is a hypocrite--Thora is so easily deceived----" "And thou?" "I am not deceived. I see Boris just as he is, rude and jealous and hateful, but I think him a far finer man than Ian Macrae ever has been, or ever will be." "Yes! Thou art right. Now then, let this affair lie still in thy heart. I think that he will come to see thee when the boats return from Shetland--if not, then I shall have something to say in the matter. I shall want my dinner very soon, and some other thing we will talk about. Let it go until there is a word to say or a movement to make." "I will be ready for thee at twelve o'clock." With a feeling of content in her heart, Sunna went away. Had she not the Burns story to tell? Yet she felt quite capable of restraining the incident until she got to a point where its relation would serve her purpose or her desire. CHAPTER VI THE OLD, OLD TROUBLE From reef and rock and skerry, over headland, ness and roe, The coastwise lights of England watch the ships of England go. ... a girl with sudden ebullitions, Flashes of fun, and little bursts of song; Petulant, pains, and fleeting pale contritions, Mute little moods of misery and wrong. Only a girl of Nature's rarest making, Wistful and sweet--and with a heart for breaking. The following two weeks were a time of anxiety concerning Boris. The recruiting party with whom he had gone away had said positively they must return with whatever luck they had in two weeks; and this interval appeared to Sunna to be of interminable length. She spent a good deal of the time with Thora affecting to console her for the loss of Ian Macrae, who had left Kirkwall for Edinburgh a few days after the departure of Boris. "We are 'a couple of maidens all forlorn,'" she sang, and though Thora disclaimed the situation, she could not prevent her companion insisting on the fact. Thora, however, did not feel that she had any reason for being forlorn. Ian's love for her had been confessed, not only to herself, but also to her father and mother, and the marriage agreed to with a few reservations, whose wisdom the lovers fully acknowledged. She was receiving the most ardent love letters by every mail and she had not one doubt of her lover in any respect. Indeed, her happiness so pervaded her whole person and conduct that Sunna felt it sometimes to be both depressing and irritating. Thora, however, was the sister of Boris, she could not quarrel with her. She had great influence over Boris, and Sunna loved Boris--loved him in spite of her anger and of his neglect. Very slowly went the two weeks the enlisting ships had fixed as the length of their absence, but the news of their great success made their earlier return most likely, and after the tenth day every one was watching for them and planning a great patriotic reception. Still the two weeks went slowly away and it was a full day past this fixed time, and the ships were not in port nor even in sight, nor had any late news come from them. In the one letter which Rahal had received from her son he said: "The enlistment has been very satisfactory; our return may be even a day earlier than we expected." So Sunna had begun to watch for the party three days before the set time, and when it was two days after it she was very unhappy. "Why do they not come, Thora?" she asked in a voice trembling with fear. "Do you think they have been wrecked?" "Oh, no! Nothing of the kind! They may have sailed westward to Harris. My father thinks so." But she appeared so little interested that Sunna turned to Mistress Ragnor and asked her opinion. "Well, then," answered Rahal, "they _are_ staying longer than was expected, but who can tell what men in a ship will do?" "They will surely keep their word and promise." "Perhaps--if it seem a good thing to them. Can thou not see? They are masters on board ship. Once out of Lerwick Bay, the whole world is before them. Know this, they might go East or West, and say to no man 'I ask thy leave.' As changeable as the sea is a sailor's promise." "But Boris is thy son--he promised thee to be home in two weeks. Men do not break a promise made on their mother's lips. How soon dost thou expect him?" "At the harbour mouth he might be, even this very minute. I want to see my boy. I love him. May the good God send those together who would fain be loved!" "Boris is in command of his own ship. He was under no man's orders. He ought not to break his promise." "With my will, he would never do that." "Dost thou think he will go to the war with the other men?" "That he might do. What woman is there who can read a man's heart?" "His mother!" "She might, a little way--no further--just as well 'no further.' Only God is wise enough, and patient enough, to read a human heart. This is a great mercy." And Rahal lifted her face from her sewing a moment and then dropped it again. Almost in a whisper Sunna said "Good-bye!" and then went her way home. She walked rapidly; she was in a passion of grief and mortification, but she sang some lilting song along the highway. As soon, however, as she passed inside the Vedder garden gates, the singing was changed into a scornful, angry monologue: "These Ragnor women! Oh, their intolerable good sense! So easy it is to talk sweetly and properly when you have no great trouble and all your little troubles are well arranged! Women cannot comfort women. No, they can not! They don't want to, if they could. Like women, I do not! Trust them, I do not! I wish that God had made me a man! I will go to my dear old grandad!--He will do something--so sorry I am that I let Thora see I loved her brother--when I go there again, I shall consider his name as the bringer-on of yawns and boredom!" An angry woman carries her heart in her mouth; but Sunna had been trained by a wise old man, and no one knew better than Sunna Vedder did, when to speak and when to be silent. She went first to her room in order to repair those disturbances to her appearance which had been induced by her inward heat and by her hurried walk home so near the noontide; and half an hour later she came down to dinner fresh and cool as a rose washed in the dew of the morning. Her frock of muslin was white as snow, there was a bow of blue ribbon at her throat, her whole appearance was delightfully satisfying. She opened her grandfather's parlour and found him sitting at a table covered with papers and little piles of gold and silver coin. "Suppose I was a thief, Grandfather?" she said. "Well then, what would thou take first?" "I would take a kiss!" and she laid her face against his face, and gave him one. "Now, thou could take all there is. What dost thou want?" "I want thee! Dinner is ready." "I will come. In ten minutes, I will come----" and in less than ten minutes he was at the dinner table, and apparently a quite different man from the one Sunna had invited there. He had changed his coat, his face was happy and careless, and he had quite forgotten the papers and the little piles of silver and gold. Sunna had said some things to Thora she was sorry for saying; she did not intend to repeat this fault with her grandfather. Even the subject of Boris could lie still until a convenient hour. She appeared, indeed, to have thrown off her anger and her disappointment with the unlucky clothing she had worn in her visit to Thora. She had even assured herself of this change, for when it fell to her feet she lifted it reluctantly between her finger and thumb and threw it aside, remarking as she did so, "I will have them all washed over again! Soda and soap may make them more agreeable and more fortunate." And perhaps if we take the trouble to notice the fact, clothing does seem to have some sort of sympathy or antagonism with its wearers. Also, it appears to take on the mood or feeling predominant, looking at one time crisp and perfectly proper, at another time limp and careless, as if the wearer informed the garment or the garment explained the wearer. It is well known that "Fashions are the external expression of the mental states of a country, and that if its men and women degenerate in their character, their fashions become absurd." Surely then, a sympathy which can affect a nation has some influence upon the individual. Sunna had noticed even in her childhood that her dresses were lucky and unlucky, but the why or the wherefore of the circumstance had never troubled her. She had also noticed that her grandfather liked and disliked certain colours and modes, but she laid all their differences to difference in age. This day, however, they were in perfect accord. He looked at her and nodded his head, and then smilingly asked: "How did thou find thy friend this morning?" "So much in love that she had not one regret for Boris." "Well, then, there is no reason for regret. Boris has taken the path of honour." "That may be so, but for the time to come I shall put little trust in him. Going such a dubious way, he might well have stopped for a God Bless Thee!" "Would thou have said that?" "Why should we ask about things impossible? Dost thou know, Grandfather, at what time the recruiting party passed Kirkwall?" "Nobody knows. I heard music out at sea three nights ago, just after midnight. There are no Shetland boats carrying music. It is more likely than not to have been the recruiting party saluting us with music as they went by." "Yes! I think thou art right. Grandfather, I want thee to tell me what we are fighting about." "Many times thou hast said 'it made no matter to thee.'" "Now then, it is different. Since Boris and so many of our men went away, Mistress Ragnor and Thora talk of the war and of nothing but the war. They know all about it. They wanted to tell me all about it. I said thou had told me all that was proper for me to know, and now then, thou must make my words true. What is England quarrelling about? It seems to me, that somebody is always looking at her in a way she does not think respectful enough." "This war is not England's fault. She has done all she could to avoid it. It is the Great Bear of Russia who wants Turkey put out of Europe." "Well, then, I heard the Bishop say the Turks were a disgrace to Europe, and that the Book of Common Prayer had once contained a petition for delivery from the Devil, the Turks, and the comet, then flaming in the sky and believed to be threatening destruction to the earth." "Listen, and I will tell thee the truth. The Greek population of Turkey, its Syrians and Armenians, are the oldest Christians in the world. They are also the most numerous and important class of the Sultan's subjects. Russia also has a large number of Russian Christians in Turkey over whom she wants a protectorate, but these two influences would be thorns in the side of Turkey. England has bought favour for the Christians she protects, by immense loans of money and other political advantages, but neither the Turk nor the English want Russia's power inside of Turkey." "What for?" "Turkey is in a bad way. A few weeks ago the Czar said to England, 'We have on our hands a sick man, a very sick man. I tell you frankly, it will be a great misfortune if one of these days he should slip away from us, especially if it were before all necessary arrangements were made. The Czar wants Turkey out of his way. He wants Constantinople for his own southern capital, he wants the Black Sea for a Russian lake, and the Danube for a Russian river. He wants many other unreasonable things, which England cannot listen to." "Well then, I think the Russian would be better than the Turk in Europe." "One thing is sure; in the hour that England joins Russia, Turkey will slay every Christian in her territories. Dost thou think England will inaugurate a huge massacre of Christians?" "That is not thinkable. Is there nothing more?" "Well then, there is India. The safety of our Indian Empire would be endangered over the whole line between East and West if Russia was in Constantinople. Turkey lies across Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor and Armenia, and above all at Constantinople and the Straits. Dost thou think England would ask Russia's permission every time she wished to go to India?" "No indeed! That, itself, is a good reason for fighting." "Yes, but the Englishman always wants a moral backbone for his quarrel." "That is as it should be. The Armenian Christians supply that." "But, Sunna, try and imagine to thyself a great military despotic Power seating itself at Constantinople, throwing its right hand over Asia Minor, Syria and Egypt; and its left holding in an iron grip the whole north of two continents; keeping the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus closed whenever it was pleased to do so, and building fleets in Egypt; and in Armenia, commanding the desirable road to India by the Euphrates." "Oh, that could not be suffered! Impossible! All the women in Kirkwall would fight against such a condition." "Well, so matters stand, and we had been at sword points a year ago but for Lord Aberdeen's cowardly, pernicious love of peace. But he is always whining about 'war destroying wealth and commerce'--as if wealth and commerce were of greater worth than national honour and justice and mercy." "Yet, one thing is sure, Grandad; war is wasteful and destructive----" "And one thing is truer still--it is this--_that national wealth is created by peace for the very purpose of defending the nation in war_. Bear this in mind. Now, it seems to me we have had enough of war. I see Elga coming with a dish of good Scotch collops, and I give thee my word that I will not spoil their savour by any unpleasant talk." Then he poured a little fine Glenlivet into a good deal of water and said: "Here's first to the glory of God! and then to the honour of England!" And Sunna touched his glass with her glass and the little ceremony put both in a very happy mood. Then Sunna saw that the moment she had waited for had arrived and she said: "I will tell thee a good story of Robert Burns to flavour thy collops. Will that be to thy wish?" "It is beyond my wish. Thou can not tell me one I do not know." "I heard one today from Thora Ragnor that I never heard thee tell." "Then it cannot be fit for thee and Thora Ragnor to repeat." "Wilt thou hear it?" "Is it about some girl he loved?" "No, it is about a man he scorned. Thou must have heard of Andrew Horner?" "Never heard the creature's name before." "Then the story will be fresh to thee. Will thou hear it now?" "As well now, as later." For Adam really had no expectation of hearing anything he had not already heard and judged; and he certainly expected nothing unusual from the proper and commonplace Thora Ragnor. But Sunna exerted all her facial skill and eloquence, and told the clever incident with wonderful spirit and delightful mimicry. Adam was enchanted; he threw down his knife and fork and made the room ring with laughter and triumph so genuine that Sunna--much against her will--was compelled to laugh with him. They heard the happy thunder in the kitchen, and wondered whatever was the matter with the Master. "It is Robert Burns, his own self, and no other man. It is the best thing I have heard from 'the lad that was born in Kyle!'" Vedder cried. "Ill-natured! Not a bit of it! Just what the Horner man deserved!" Then he took some more collops and a fresh taste of Glenlivet, and anon broke into laughter again. "Oh! but I wish I was in Edinburgh tonight! There's men there I would go to see and have my laugh out with them." "Grandfather, why should we not go to Edinburgh next winter? You could board me with Mistress Brodie, and come every day to sort our quarrels and see that I was properly treated. Then you could have your crow over the ignoramuses who did not know such a patent Burns story; and I could take lessons in music and singing, and be learning something or seeing something, every hour of my life." "And what about Boris?" "The very name of Boris tires my tongue! I can do without Boris." "Well, then, that is good! Thou art learning 'the grand habit of doing without.'" "Wilt thou take me to Edinburgh? My mother would like thee to do that. I think I deserve it, Grandfather; yes, and so I ask thee." "If I was going, I should have no mind to go without thee. One thing I wish to know--in what way hast thou deserved it?" "I did not expect thee to ask me a question like that. Have I fretted and pined, and forgot to eat and sleep, and gone dowdy and slovenly, because my lover has been fool enough to desert me? Well, then, that is what any other girl would have done. But because I am of thy blood and stock, I take what comes to me as part of my day's work, and make no more grumble on the matter than one does about bad weather. Is that not the truth?" "One thing is sure--thou art the finest all round girl in the Orcades." "Then it seems to me thou should take me to Edinburgh. I want that something, that polish, only great cities can give me." "Blessings on thee! All Edinburgh can give, thou shalt have! But it is my advice to thee to remain here until Mrs. Brodie goes back, then go thou with her." "That will be what it should be. Mrs. Brodie, I feel, will be my stepmother; and----" "She will never step past thee. Fear not!" "Nor will any one--man or woman--step between thee and me! Doubt me not!" "Well, then, have thy way. I give thee my word to take thee to Edinburgh in the autumn. Thou shalt either stay with Mrs. Brodie or at the Queen's Hotel on Prince's Street, with old Adam Vedder." "Best of all is thy last offer. I will stay with thee. I am used to men's society. Women bore me." "Women bore me also." "Know this, there are three women who do not bore thee. Shall I speak their names?" "I will not hinder thee." "Sunna Vedder?" "I love her. She cannot bore me." "Rahal Ragnor?" "I respect her. She does not bore me--often." "Yes, that is so; it is but seldom thou sees her. Well, then, Barbara Brodie?" "I once loved her. She can never be indifferent to me." "Thou hast told me the truth and I will not follow up this catechism." "For that favour, I am thy debtor. I might not always have been so truthful. Now, then, be honest with me. What wilt thou do all the summer, with no lover to wait on thy whims and fancies?" "On thee I shall rely. Where thou goes, I will go, and if thou stay at home, with thee I will stay. Thou can read to me. I have never heard any of our great Sagas and that is a shame. I complain of that neglect in my education! I heard Maximus Grant recite from 'The Banded Men and Haakon the Good,' when I was in Edinburgh, and I said to myself, 'how much finer is this, than opera songs, sung with a Scotch burr, in the Italian; or than English songs, sung by Scotch people who pronounce English after the Scotch fashion!' Then I made up my mind that this coming winter I would let Edinburgh drawing-rooms hear the songs of Norse warriors; the songs in which the armour rattles and the swords shine!" "That, indeed, will befit thee! Now, then, for the summer, keep thyself well in hand. Say nothing of thy plans, for if but once the wind catches them, they will soon be for every one to talk to death." Adam was finishing his plate of rice pudding and cream when he gave this advice; and with it, he moved his chair from the table and said: "Come into the garden. I want to smoke. Thou knows a good dinner deserves a pipe, and a bad one demands it." Then they went into the garden and talked of the flowers and the young vegetables, and said not a word of Edinburgh and the Sagas that the winds could catch and carry round to human folk for clash and gossip. And when the pipe was out, Adam said: "Now I am going into the town. That Burns story is on my lips, my teeth cannot keep my tongue behind them much longer." "A good time will be thine. I wish that I could go with thee." "What wilt thou do?" "Braid my hair and dress myself. Then I shall take out thy Saga of 'The Banded Men' and study the men who were banded, and find them out, in all their clever ways. Then I can show them to others. If I get tired of them--and I do get tired of men very quickly--I will put on my bonnet and tippet, and go and carry Mrs. Brodie thy respectful----" "Take care, Sunna!" "Good wishes! I can surely go so far." "Know this--every step on that road may lead to danger--and thou cannot turn back and tread them the other way. There now, be off! I will talk with thee no longer." Sunna said something about Burns in reply, but Vedder heard her not. He was satisfying his vocal impatience by whistling softly and very musically "The Garb of Old Gaul," and Sunna watched and listened a moment, and then in something of a hurry went to her room. A new thought had come to her--one which pleased her very much; and she proceeded to dress herself accordingly. "None too good is my Easter gown," she said pleasantly to herself; "and I can take Eric a basket of the oranges grandfather brought home today. A treat to the dear little lad they will be. Before me is a long afternoon, and I shall find the proper moment to ask the advice of Maximus about 'The Banded Men.'" So with inward smiles she dressed herself, and then took the highway in a direction not very often taken by her. It led her to a handsome mansion overlooking the Venice of the Orcades, the village and the wonderful Bay of Kirkwall, into which ... by night and day, The great sea water finds its way Through long, long windings of the hills. The house had a silent look, and its enclosure was strangely quiet, though kept in exquisite order and beauty. As she approached, a lady about fifty years old came to the top of the long, white steps to meet her, appearing to be greatly pleased with her visit. "Only at dinner time Max was speaking of thee! And Eric said his sweetheart had forgotten him, and wondering we all were, what had kept thee so long away." "Well, then, thou knowest about the war and the enlisting--everyone, in some way, has been touched by the changes made." "True is that! Quickly thou must come in, for Eric has both second-sight and hearing, and no doubt he knows already that here thou art----" and talking thus as she went, Mrs. Beaton led the way up a wide, light stairway. Even as Mrs. Beaton was speaking a thin, eager voice called Sunna's name, a door flew open, and a man, beautiful as a dream-man, stood in the entrance to welcome them. And here the word "beautiful" need not to be erased; it was the very word that sprang naturally from the heart to the lips of every one when they met Maximus Grant. No Greek sculptor ever dreamed of a more perfect form and face; the latter illumined by noticeable grey eyes, contemplative and mystical, a face, thoughtful and winning, and constantly breaking into kind smiles. He took Sunna's hand, and they went quickly forward to a boy of about eleven years old, whom Sunna kissed and petted. The little lad was in a passion of delight. He called her "his sweetheart! his wife! his Queen!" and made her take off her bonnet and cloak and sit down beside him. He was half lying in a softly cushioned chair; there was a large globe at his side, and an equally large atlas, with other books on a small table near by, and Max's chair was close to the whole arrangement. He was a fair, lovely boy, with the seraphic eyes that sufferers from spinal diseases so frequently possess--eyes with the look in them of a Conqueror of Pain. But also, on his young face there was the solemn Trophonean pallor which signs those who daily dare "to look at death in the cave." "Max and I have been to the Greek islands," he said, "and Sunna, as soon as I am grown up, and am quite well, I shall ask thee to marry me, and then we will go to one of the loveliest of them and live there. Max thinks that would be just right." "Thou little darling," answered Sunna, "when thou art a man, if thou ask me to marry thee, I shall say 'yes!'" "Of course thou wilt. Sunna loves Eric?" "I do, indeed, Eric! I think we should be very happy. We should never quarrel or be cross with each other." "Oh! I would not like that! If we did not quarrel, there would be no making-up. I remember papa and mamma making-up their little tiffs, and they seemed to be very happy about it--and to love each other ever so much better for the tiff and the make-up. I think we must have little quarrels, Sunna; and then, long, long, happy makings-up." "Very well, Eric; only, thou must make the quarrel. With thee I could not quarrel." "I should begin it in this way: 'Sunna, I do not approve of thy dancing with--say--Ken McLeod.' Then thou wilt say: 'I shall dance with whom I like, Eric'; and I will reply: 'thou art my wife and I will not allow thee to dance with McLeod'; and then thou wilt be naughty and saucy and proud, and I shall have to be angry and masterful; and as thou art going out of the room in a terrible temper, I shall say, 'Sunna!' in a sweet voice, and look at thee, and thou wilt look at me, with those heavenly eyes, and then I shall open my arms and thou wilt fly to my embrace, and the making-up will begin." "Well, then, that will be delightful, Eric, but thou must not accuse me of anything so bad as dancing with Mr. McLeod." "Would that be bad to thee?" "Very bad, indeed! I fear I would never try to have a 'make-up' with any one who thought I would dance with him." "Dost thou dislike him?" "That is neither here nor there. He is a Scot. I may marry like the rest of the world, but while my life days last, Sunna Vedder will not marry a Scot." "Yes--but there was some talk that way. My aunt heard it. My aunt hears everything." "I will tell thee, talk that way was all lies. No one will Sunna Vedder marry, that is not of her race." Then she put her arms round Eric, and kissed his wan face, calling him "her own little Norseman!" "Tell me, Sunna, what is happening in the town?" said he. "Well, then, not much now. Men are talking of the war, and going to the war, and empty is the town. About the war, art thou sorry?" "No, I am glad---- "How glorious the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land!" And he raised his small, thin hands, and his face glowed, and he looked like a young St. Michael. Then Max lifted the globe and books aside and put his chair close to his brother's. "Eric has the soul of a soldier," he said, "and the sound of drums and trumpets stirs him like the cry of fire." "And so it happens, Mr. Grant, that we have much noise lately from the trumpets and the fife and drums." "Yes, man is a military animal, he loves parade," answered Max. "But in this war, there is much more than parade." "You are right, Miss Vedder. It was prompted by that gigantic heart-throb with which, even across oceans, we feel each other's rights and wrongs. And in this way we learn best that we are men and brothers. Can a man do more for a wrong than give his life to right it?" Then Eric cried out with hysterical passion: "I wish only that I might have my way with Aberdeen! Oh, the skulking cowards who follow him! Max! Max! If you would mount our father's big war horse and hold me in front of you and ride into the thick of the battle, and let me look on the cold light of the lifted swords! Oh, the shining swords! They shake! They cry out! The lives of men are in them! Max! Max! I want to die--on a--battlefield!" And Max held the weeping boy in his arms, and bowed his head over him and whispered words too tender and sacred to be written down. For a while Eric was exhausted; he lay still watching his brother and Sunna, and listening to their conversation. They were talking of the excitement in London, and of the pressure of the clergy putting down the reluctancies and falterings of the peace men. "Have you heard, Miss Vedder," said Grant, "that one of the bishops decided England's call to war by a wonderful sermon in St. Paul's?" "I am sorry to be ignorant. Tell me." "He preached from Jeremiah, Fourth Chapter and Sixth Verse; and his closing cry was from Nahum, Second Chapter and First Verse, 'Set up the standard toward Zion. Stay not, for I will bring evil from the north and a great destruction,' and he closed with Nahum's advice, 'He that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face, keep the munition, watch the way, make thy loins strong, fortify thy power mightily.'" "Well, then, how went the advice?" "I know not exactly. It is hard to convince commerce and cowardice that at certain times war is the highest of all duties. Neither of them understand patriotism; and yet every trembling pacifist in time of war is a misfortune to his country." "And the country will give them--what?" asked Sunna. "The cold, dead damnation of a disgrace they will never outlive," answered Max. There was a sharp cry from Eric at these words, and then a passionate childish exclamation--"Not bad enough! Not bad enough!" he screamed. "Oh, if I had a sword and a strong hand! I would cut them up in slices!" Then with an hysterical cry the boy fell backward. In an instant Max had him in his arms and was whispering words of promise and consolation, and just then, fortunately, Mrs. Beaton entered with a servant who was carrying a service of tea and muffins. It was a welcome diversion and both Max and Sunna were glad of it. Max gently unloosed Eric's hand from Sunna's clasp and then they both looked at the child. He had fallen into a sleep of exhaustion and Max said, "It is well. When he is worn out with feeling, such sleeps alone save his life. I am weary, also. Let us have a cup of tea." So they sat down and talked of everything but the war--"He would hear us in his sleep," said Max, "and he has borne all he is able to bear today." Then Sunna said: "Right glad am I to put a stop to such a trouble-raising subject. War is a thing by itself, and all that touches it makes people bereft of their senses or some other good thing. Here has come news of Thora Ragnor's hurried marriage, but no one knows or cares about the strange things happening at our doorstep. Such haste is not good I fear." "Does Ragnor approve of it?" asked Mrs. Beaton. "Thora's marriage is all right. They fell in love with each other the moment they met. No other marriage is possible for either. It is this, or none at all," answered Sunna. "I heard the man was the son of a great Edinburgh preacher." "Yes, the Rev. Dr. Macrae, of St. Mark's." "That is what I heard. He is a good man, but a very hard one." "If he is hard, he is not good." "Thou must not say that, little Miss; it may be the Episcopalian belief, but we Calvinists have a stronger faith--a faith fit for men and soldiers of the Lord." "There! Mrs. Beaton, you are naming soldiers. That is against our agreement to drop war talk. About Macrae I know nothing. He is not aware that anyone but Thora Ragnor lives; and I was not in the least attracted by him--his black hair and black eyes repelled me--I dislike such men." "Will they live in Edinburgh?" "I believe they will live in Kirkwall. Mrs. Ragnor owns a pretty house, which she will give them. She is going to put it in order and furnish it from the roof to the foundation. Thora is busy about her napery--the finest of Irish linen and damask. Now then, I must hurry home. My grandfather will be waiting his tea." Max rose with her. He looked at his little brother and said: "Aunt, he will sleep now for a few hours, will you watch him till I return?" "Will I not? You know he is as safe with me as yourself, Max." So with an acknowledging smile of content, he took Sunna's hand and led her slowly down the stairway. There was a box running all across the sill of the long window, lighting the stairs, and it was full and running over with the delicious muck plant. Sunna laid her face upon its leaves for a moment, and the whole place was thrilled with its heavenly perfume. Then she smiled at Max and his heart trembled with joy; yet he said a little abruptly--"Let us make haste. The night grows cloudy." Their way took them through the village, and Sunna knew that she would, in all likelihood, be the first woman ever seen in Maximus Grant's company. The circumstance was pleasant to her, and she carried herself with an air and manner that she readily caught and copied from him. She knew that there was a face at every window, but she did not turn her head one way or the other. Max was talking to her about the Sagas and she had a personal interest in the Sagas, and any ambition she had to be socially popular was as yet quite undeveloped. At the point where the Vedder and Ragnor roads crossed each other, two men were standing, talking. They were Ragnor and Vedder, and Ragnor was at once aware of the identity of the couple approaching; but Vedder appeared so unaware, that Ragnor remarked: "I see Sunna, Vedder, coming up the road, and with her is Colonel Max Grant." "But why 'Colonel,' Ragnor?" "When General Grant died his son was a colonel in the Life Guards. He left the army to care for his brother. I heard that the Queen praised him for doing so." Then the couple were so close, that it was impossible to affect ignorance of their presence any longer; and the old men turned and saluted the young couple. "I thank thee, Colonel," said Vedder, as he "changed hats" with the Colonel, "but now I can relieve thee of the charge thou hast taken. I am going home and Sunna will go with me; but if thou could call on an old man about some business, there is a matter I would like to arrange with thee." "I could go home with you now, Vedder, if that would be suitable." "Nay, it would be too much for me tonight. It is concerning that waste land on the Stromness road, near the little bridge. I would like to build a factory there." "That would be to my pleasure and advantage. I will call on you and talk over the matter, at any time you desire." "Well and good! Say tomorrow at two o'clock." "Three o'clock would be better for me." "So, let it be." Then he took Sunna's hand and she understood that her walk with Grant was over. She thanked Max for his courtesy, sent a message to Eric, and then said her good night with a look into his eyes which dirled in his heart for hours afterwards. Some compliments passed between the men and then she found herself walking home with her grandfather. "Thou ought not to have seen me, Grandfather," she said a little crossly, "I was having such a lovely walk." "I did not want to see thee, and have I not arranged for thee something a great deal better on tomorrow's afternoon?" "One never knows----" "Listen; he is to come at three o'clock, it will be thy fault if he leaves at four. Thou can make tea for him--thou can walk in the greenhouse and the garden with him, thou can sing for him--no, let him sing for thee--thou can ask him to help thee with 'The Banded Men'--and if he goes away before eight o'clock I will say to thee--'take the first man that asks thee for thou hast no woman-witchery with which to pick and choose!' Grant is a fine man. If thou can win him, thou wins something worth while. He has always held himself apart. His father was much like him. All of them soldiers and proud as men are made, these confounded, democratic days." "And what of Boris?" asked Sunna. "May Boris rest wherever he is! Thou could not compare Boris with Maximus Grant." "That is the truth. In many ways they are not comparable. Boris is a rough, passionate man. Grant is a gentleman. Always I thought there was something common in me; that must be the reason why I prefer Boris." "To vex me, thou art saying such untruthful words. I know thy contradictions! Go now and inquire after my tea. I am in want of it." During tea, nothing further was said of Maximus Grant; but Sunna was in a very merry mood, and Adam watched her, and listened to her in a philosophical way;--that is, he tried to make out amid all her persiflage and bantering talk what was her ruling motive and intent--a thing no one could have been sure of, unless they had heard her talking to herself--that mysterious confidence in which we all indulge, and in which we all tell ourselves the truth. Sunna was undressing her hair and folding away her clothing as she visited this confessional, but her revelations were certainly honest, even if fragmentary, and full of doubt and uncertainty. "Grant, indeed!" she exclaimed, "I am not ready for Grant--I believe I am afraid of the man--he would make me over--make me like himself--in a month he would do it--I like Boris best! I should quarrel with Boris, of course, and we should say words neither polite nor kind to each other; but then Boris would do as that blessed child said, 'Look at me'; and I should look at him, and the making-up would begin. Heigh-ho! I wish it could begin tonight!" She was silent then for a few minutes, and in a sadder voice added--"with Max I should become an angel--and I should have a life without a ripple--I would hate it, just as I hate the sea when it lies like a mirror under the sunshine--then I always want to scream out for a great north wind and the sea in a passion, shattering everything in its way. If I got into that mood with Max, we should have a most unpleasant time----" and she laughed and tossed her pillows about, and then having found a comfortable niche in one of them, she tucked her handsome head into it and in a few moments the sleep of youth and perfect health lulled her into a secret garden in the Land of Dreams. The next day Sunna appeared to be quite oblivious regarding Grant's visit and Vedder was too well acquainted with his granddaughter to speak of it. He only noticed that she was dressed with a peculiar simplicity and neatness. At three o'clock Grant was promptly at the Vedder House, and at half-past four the land in question had been visited and subsequently bought and sold. Then the cup of tea came in, and the walk in the garden followed, and at six there was an ample meal, and during the singing that followed it, Vedder fell fast asleep, as was his custom, and when he awoke Grant was just going and the clock was striking ten. Vedder looked at Sunna and there was no need for him to speak. "It was 'The Banded Men,'" said Sunna with a straight look at her grandfather. "Well, then, I know a woman who is a match for any number of 'banded men.'" "And in all likelihood that woman will be a Vedder. Good night, Grandfather." CHAPTER VII THE CALL OF WAR I came not to send peace but a sword. --_Matt. x, 34._ For when I note how noble Nature's form Under the war's red pain, I deem it true That He who made the earthquake and the storm, Perchance made battles too. The summer passed rapidly away for it was full of new interests. Thora's wedding was to take place about Christmas or New Year, and there were no ready-made garments in those days; so all of her girl friends were eager to help her needle. Sunna spent half the day with her and all their small frets and jealousies were forgotten. Early in the morning the work was lifted, and all day long it went happily on, to their light-hearted hopes and dreams. Then in June and September Ian came to Kirkwall to settle his account with McLeod, and at the same time, he remained a week as the Ragnors' guest. There was also Sunna's intended visit to Edinburgh to talk about, and there was never a day in which the war and its preparations did not make itself prominent. One of the pleasantest episodes of this period occurred early and related to Sunna. One morning she received a small box from London, and she was so amazed at the circumstance, that she kept examining the address and wondering "who could have sent it," instead of opening the box. However, when this necessity had been observed, it revealed to her a square leather case, almost like those used for jewelry, and her heart leaped high with expectation. It was something, however, that pleased her much more than jewelry; it was a likeness of Boris, a daguerreotype--the first that had ever reached Kirkwall. A narrow scrap of paper was within the clasp, on which Boris had written, "I am all thine! Forget me not!" Sunna usually made a pretense of despising anything sentimental but this example filled her heart with joy and satisfaction. And after it, she took far greater pleasure in all the circumstances relating to Thora's marriage; for she had gained a personal interest in them. Even the details of the ceremony were now discussed and arranged in accord with Sunna's taste and suggestions. "The altar and nave must be decorated with flags and evergreens and all the late flowers we can secure," she said. "There will not be many flowers, I fear," answered Mistress Ragnor. "The Grants have a large greenhouse. I shall ask them to save all they possibly can. Maximus Grant delights in doing a kindness." "Then thou must ask him, Sunna. He is thy friend--perhaps thy lover. So the talk goes." "Let them talk! My lover is far away. God save him!" "Where then?" "Where all good and fit men are gone--to the trenches. For my lover is much of a man, strong and brave-hearted. He adores his country, his home, and his kindred. He counts honour far above money; and liberty, more than life. My lover will earn the right to marry the girl he loves, and become the father of free men and women!" And Rahal answered proudly and tenderly: "Thou art surely meaning my son Boris." "Indeed, thou art near to the truth." Then Rahal put her arm round Sunna and kissed her. "Thou hast made me happy," she said, and Sunna made her still more happy, when she took out of the little bag fastened to her belt the daguerreotype and showed her the strong, handsome face of her soldier-sailor boy. During all this summer Sunna was busy and regular. She was at the Ragnors' every day until the noon hour. Then she ate dinner with her grandfather, who was as eager to discuss the news and gossip Sunna had heard, as any old woman in Kirkwall. He said: "Pooh! Pooh!" and "Nonsense!" but he listened to it, and it often served his purpose better than words of weight and wisdom. In the afternoons Mistress Brodie was to visit, and the winter in Edinburgh to talk over. Coming home in time to take tea with her grandfather, she devoted the first hour after the meal to practising her best songs, and these lullabyed the old man to a sleep which often lasted until "The Banded Men" were attended to. It might then be ten o'clock and she was ready to sleep. All through these long summer days, Thora was the natural source of interest and the inciting element of all the work and chatter that turned the Ragnor house upside down and inside out; but Thora was naturally shy and quiet, and Sunna naturally expressive and presuming; and it was difficult for their companions to keep Thora and Sunna in their proper places. Every one found it difficult. Only when Ian was present, did Sunna take her proper secondary place and Ian, though the most faithful and attentive of lovers by mail, had only been able to pay Thora one personal visit. This visit had occurred at the end of June and he was expected again at the end of September. The year was now approaching that time and the Ragnor household was in a state of happy expectation. It was an unusual condition and Sunna said irritably: "They go on about this stranger as if he were the son of Jupiter--and poor Boris! They never mention him, though there has been a big battle and Boris may have been in it. If Boris were killed, it is easy to see that this Ian Macrae would step into his place!" "Nothing of that kind could happen! In thy own heart keep such foolish thoughts," replied Vedder. So the last days of September were restless and not very happy, for there was a great storm prevailing, and the winds roared and the rain fell in torrents and the sea looked as if it had gone mad. Before the storm there was a report of a big battle, but no details of it had reached them. For the Pentland Firth had been in its worst equinoctial temper and the proviso added to all Orkney sailing notices, "weather permitting," had been in full force for nearly a week. But at length the storm was over and everyone was on the lookout for the delayed shipping. Thora was pale with intense excitement but all things were in beautiful readiness for the expected guest. And Ian did not disappoint the happy hopes which called him. He was on the first ship that arrived and it was Conall Ragnor's hand he clasped as his feet touched the dry land. Such a home-coming as awaited him--the cheerful room, the bountifully spread table, the warm welcome, the beauty and love, mingling with that sense of peace and rest and warm affection which completely satisfies the heart. Would such a blissful hour ever come again to him in this life? His pockets were full of newspapers, and they were all shouting over the glorious opening of the war. The battle of Alma had been fought and won; and the troops were ready and waiting for Inkerman. England's usual calm placidity had vanished in exultant rejoicing. "An English gentleman told me," said Ian, "that you could not escape the chimes of joyful bells in any part of the ringing island.'" Vedder had just entered the room and he stood still to listen to these words. Then he said: "Men differ. For the first victory let all the bells of England ring if they want to. We Norsemen like to keep our bell-ringing until the fight is over and they can chime _Peace_. And how do you suppose, Ian Macrae, that the English and French will like to fight together?" "Well enough, sir, no doubt. Why not?" "Of Waterloo I was thinking. Have the French forgotten it? Ian, it is the very first time in all the history we have, that Frenchmen ever fought with Englishmen in a common cause. Natural enemies they have been for centuries, fighting each other with a very good will whenever they got a chance. Have they suddenly become friends? Have they forgot Waterloo?" and he shook his wise old head doubtfully. "Who can tell, sir, but when the English conquer any nation, they feel kindly to them and usually give them many favours?" "Well, then, every one knows that the same is both her pleasure and her folly; and dearly she pays for it." "Ian," said Mistress Ragnor, "are the English ships now in the Black Sea? And if so, do you think Boris is with them?" "About Boris, I do not know. He told me he was carrying 'material of war.' The gentleman of whom I spoke went down to Spithead to see them off. Her Majesty, in the royal yacht, _Fairy_, suddenly appeared. Then the flagship hauled home every rope by the silent 'all-at-once' action of one hundred men. Immediately the rigging of the ships was black with sailors, but there was not a sound heard except an occasional command--sharp, short and imperative--or the shrill order of the boatswain's whistle. The next moment, the Queen's yacht shot past the fleet and literally led it out to sea. Near the Nab, the royal yacht hove to and the whole fleet sailed past her, carried swiftly out by a fine westerly breeze. Her Majesty waved her handkerchief as they passed and it is said she wept. If she had not wept she would have been less than a woman and a queen." While Vedder and Ragnor were discussing this incident, and comparing it with Cleopatra at the head of her fleet and Boadicea at the head of her British army and Queen Elizabeth at Tewksbury reviewing her army, Mrs. Ragnor and Thora left the room. Ian quickly followed. There was a bright fire in the parlour, and the piano was open. Ian naturally drifted there and then Thora's voice was wanted in the song. When it was finished, Mrs. Ragnor had been called out and they were alone. And though Mrs. Ragnor came back at intervals, they were practically alone during the rest of the evening. What do lovers talk about when they are alone? Ah! their conversation is not to be written down. How unwritable it is! How wise it is! How foolish when written down! How supremely satisfying to the lovers themselves! Surely it is only the "baby-talk" of the wisdom not yet comprehensible to human hearts! We often say of certain events; "I have no words to describe what I felt"--and who will find out or invent the heavenly syllables that can adequately describe the divine passion of two souls, that suddenly find their real mate--find the soul that halves their soul, created for them, created with them, often lost or missed through diverse reincarnations; but sooner or later found again and known as soon as found to both. No wooing is necessary in such a case--they meet, they look, they love, and naturally and immediately take up their old, but unforgotten love patois. They do not need to learn its sweet, broken syllables, its hand clasps and sighs, its glances and kisses; they are more natural to them than was the grammared language they learned through years of painful study. Ian and Thora hardly knew how the week went. Every one respected their position and left them very much to their own inclinations. It led them to long, solitary walks, and to the little green skiff on the moonlit bay, and to short visits to Sunna, in order, mainly, that they might afterwards tell each other how far sweeter and happier they were alone. They never tired of each other, and every day they recounted the number of days that had to pass ere Ian could call himself free from the McLeod contract. They were to marry immediately and Ian would go into Ragnor's business as bookkeeper. Their future home was growing more beautiful every day. It was going to be the prettiest little home on the island. There was a good garden attached to it and a small greenhouse to save the potted plants in the winter. Ragnor had ordered its furniture from a famous maker in Aberdeen, and Rahal was attending with love and skill to all those incidentals of modern housekeeping, usually included in such words as silver, china, napery, ornaments, and kitchen-utensils. They were much interested in it and went every fine day to observe its progress. Yet their interest in the house was far inferior to their interest in each other, and Sunna may well be excused for saying to her grandfather: "They are the most conceited couple in the world! In fact, the world belongs to them and all the men and women in it--the sun and the moon are made new for them, and they have the only bit of wisdom going. I hope I may be able to say 'yes' to all they claim until Saturday comes." "These are the ways of love, Sunna." "Then I shall not walk in them." "Thou wilt walk in the way appointed thee." "Pure Calvinism is that, Grandfather." "So be it. I am a Calvinist about birth, death and marriage. They are the events in life about which God interferes. His will and design is generally evident." "And quite as evident, Grandfather, is the fact that a great many people interfere with His will and design." "Yes, Sunna, because our will is free. Yet if our will crosses God's will, crucifixion of some kind is sure to follow." "Well, then, today is Friday. The week has got itself over nearly; and tomorrow will be partly free, for Ian goes to Edinburgh at ten o'clock. Very proper is that! Such an admirable young man ought only to live in a capitol city." "If these are thy opinions, keep them to thyself. Very popular is the young man." "Grandfather, dost thou think that I am walking in ankle-tights yet? I can talk as the crowd talks, and I can talk to a sensible man like thee. Tomorrow brings release. I am glad, for Thora has forgotten me. I feel that very much." "Thou art jealous." Vedder's assertion was near the truth, for undeniably Ian and Thora had been careless of any one but themselves. Yet their love was so vital and primitive, so unaffected and sincere, that it touched the sympathies of all. In this cold, far-northern island, it had all the glow and warmth of some rose-crowned garden of a tropical paradise. But such special days are like days set apart; they do not fit into ordinary life and cannot be continued long under any circumstances. So the last day came and Thora said: "Mother, dear, it is a day in a thousand for beauty, and we are going to get Aunt Brodie's carriage to ride over to Stromness and see the queer, old town, and the Stones of Stenness." "Go not near them. If you go into the cathedral you go expecting some good to come to you; for angels may be resting in its holy aisles, ready and glad to bless you. What will you ask of the ghosts among the Stones of Stenness? Is there any favour you would take from the Baal and Moloch worshipped with fire and blood among them?" "Why, Mother," said Thora, "I have known many girls who went with their lovers to Stenness purposely to join their hands through the hole in Woden's Stone and thus take oath to love each other forever." "Thou and Ian will take that oath in the holy church of St. Magnus." "That is what we wish, Mother," said Ian. "We wish nothing less than that." "Well, then, go and see the queer, old, old town, and go to the Mason's Arms, and you will get there a good dinner. After it ride slowly back. Father will be home before six and must have his meal at once." "That is the thing we shall do, Mother. Ian thought it would be so romantic to take a lunch with us and eat it among the Stones of Stenness. But the Mason's Arms will be better. The Masons are good men, Mother?" "In all their generations, good men. Thy father is a Mason in high standing." "Yes, that is so! Then the Mason's Arms may be lucky to us?" "We make things lucky or unlucky by our willing and doing; but even so, it is not lucky to defy or deny what the dead have once held to be good or bad." "Well, then, why, Mother?" "Not now, will we talk of whys and wherefores. It is easier to believe than to think. Take, in this last day of Love's seven days, the full joy of your lives and ask not why of anyone." So the lovers went off gaily to see the land-locked bay and the strange old town of Stromness; and the house was silent and lonely without them and Rahal wished that her husband would come home and talk with her, for her soul was under a cloud of presentiments and she said to herself after a morning of fretful, inefficient work: "Oh, how much easier it is to love God than it is to trust Him. Are not my dear ones in His care? Yet about them I am constantly worrying; though perfectly well I know that in any deluge that may come, God will find an ark for those who love and trust Him. Boris knows--Boris knows--I have told him." About three o'clock she went to the window and looked towards the town. Much to her astonishment she saw her husband coming home at a speed far beyond his ordinary walk. He appeared also to be disturbed, even angry, and she watched him anxiously until he reached the house. Then she was at the open door and his face frightened her. "Conall! My dear one! Art thou ill?" she asked. "I am ill with anger and pity and shame!" "What is thy meaning? Speak to me plainly." "Oh, Rahal! the shame and the cruelty of it! I am beside myself!" "Come to my room, then thou shalt tell thy sorrow and I will halve it with thee." "No! I want to cry out! I want to shout the shameful wrong from the house-tops! Indeed, it is flying all over England and Scotland--over all the civilized world! And yet--my God! the guilty ones are still living!" "Coll, my dear one, what is it thou most needs--cold water?" "No! No! Get me a pot of hot tea.[*] My brain burns. My heart is like to break! Our poor brave soldiers! They are dying of hunger and of every form of shameful neglect. The barest necessities of life are denied them." [*] The Norsemen of Shetland and Orkney drank tea in every kind of need or crisis. No meal without it, no pleasure without it; and it was equally indispensable in every kind of trouble or fatigue. "By whom? By whom, Coll?" "Pacifists in power and office everywhere! Give me a drink! Give me a drink! I am ill--get me tea--and I will tell thee." There was boiling water on the kitchen hob, and the tea was ready in five minutes. "Drink, dear Coll," said Rahal, "and then share thy trouble and anger with me. The mail packet brought the bad news, I suppose?" "Yes, about an hour ago. The town is in a tumult. Men are cursing and women are doing nothing less. Some whose sons are at the front are in a distraction. If Aberdeen were within our reach we would give him five minutes to say his prayers and then send him to the judgment of God. Englishmen and Norsemen will not lie down and rot under Russian tyranny. To die fighting against it sends them joyfully to the battlefield! But oh, Rahal! to be left alone to die on the battlefield, without help, without care, without even a drink of cold water! It is damnable cruelty! What I say is this: let England stop her bell-ringing and shouts of victory until she has comforted and helped her wounded and dying soldiers!" "And Aberdeen? He is a Scotch nobleman--the Scotch are not cowards--what has he done, Coll?" "Because he hates fighting for our rights, he persuades all whom his power and patronage can reach to lie down or he says they will be knocked down. So it may be, but every man that has a particle of the Divine in him would rather be knocked down than lie down--if down it had to be--but there is no question of down in it! Aberdeen! He is 'England's worst enemy'--and he holds the power given him by England to rule and ruin England! I wish he would die and go to judgment this night! I do! I do! and my soul says to me, 'Thou art right.'" "Coll, no man knoweth the will of the Almighty." "Then they ought to! The question has now been up to England for a two-years' discussion, and they have only to open His Word and find it out"; then he straightened himself and in a mighty burst of joyful pride and enthusiasm cried out: "'Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight. "'My goodness, and my fortress, my high tower, and my deliverer, my shield, and He in whom I trust, who subdueth the people under me.'" Anon he began to pace the floor as he continued: "'Rid us and deliver us, from the hands of strange children--whose mouth speaketh vanity, and whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood.' Rahal, could there be a better description of Russia--'her right hand of falsehood, her mouth speaking vanity?' David put the very words needed in our mouths when he taught us to say, 'rid us of such an enemy, and of all who strike hands with him!' Yes, rid us. We want to be rid of all such dead souls! Rid us." Then Rahal reminded her husband that only recently his physician had warned him against all excitement, especially of anger, and so finally induced him to take a sedative and go to sleep. But sleep was far from her. She sat down in her own room and closed her eyes against all worldly sights and sounds. Her soul was trying to reach her son's soul and impress upon it her own trust in the love and mercy of the "God of battles." She had hoped that some word or thought of Boris would come back to her in such a personal manner that she would feel that he was thinking of her and of the many sweet spiritual confidences they had had together. But nothing came, no sign, no word, no sudden, flashing memory of some special promise. All was void and still until she heard the voices of Thora and Ian. Then she went down to them and found that the evil news had met them on their way home. She asked Ian if he had any knowledge of the whereabouts of Boris. Ian thought he might be at sea, as his ship was at Spithead among the carrying ships of the navy. "If he had been in Alma's fight, you might have heard from him," he added. "It would be his first battle and he would want to write to you about it. That would be only natural." "Well, then, I will look for good news. If bad news is coming, I will not pay it the compliment of going to meet it. Have you had a pleasant day? Where first did you go?" "To the land-locked Bay of Stromness which was full of ships of all sizes, of schooners, and of little skiffs painted a light green colour like the pleasure skiffs of Kirkwall." "And the town?" "Was very busy while we were there. It has but one long street, with steep branches running directly up the big granite hill which shelters it from the Atlantic. What I noticed particularly was, that the houses on the main street all had their gables seaward; and are so built that the people can step from their doors into their boats. I liked that arrangement. Stromness is really an Orcadean Venice. The town is a queer old place, with a non-English and non-Scotch look. The houses have an old-world appearance and the names over the doorways carry you back to Norseland. Only one street is flagged and little bays run up into the street through its whole length. But the place appeared to be very busy and happy. I noticed few Scotch there, the people seemed to be purely Norse. All were busy--men, women and children." "It used to be the last port for the Hudson Bay Company," said Rahal, "and the big whaling fleets, and in days of war and convoys there were hundreds of big ships in its wonderful harbour. I suppose that you had no time to visit any of the ancient monuments there?" Rahal asked. "No; Thora told me her grandmother Ragnor was buried in its cemetery and that her grave was near the church door and had a white pillar at the head of it. So we walked there." "Well, then?" "I cannot describe to you the savage, lonely grandeur of its situation. It frightened me." "The men and women who chose it were not afraid of it." "Thora says its memory frightened her for years." "Thora was only eight years old when her father placed the pillar at the head of his mother's grave. It was then she saw it--but at eight years many people are often more sensitive than at eighty. Yes, indeed! They may see, then, what eyes dimmed by earthly vision cannot see, and feel what hearts hardened by earth's experiences cannot feel. Thora's spiritual sight was very keen in childhood and is not dimmed yet." At these words Thora entered the room, wearing the little frock of white barége she had saved for this last day of Ian's visit. Her face had been bathed, her hair brushed and loosened but yet dressed with the easiest simplicity. She was in trouble but she knew when to speak of trouble, and when to be silent. Her mother was talking of Stromness; when her father came, he would know all, and say all. So she went softly about the room, putting on the dinner table those last final accessories that it was her duty to supply. Yet the conversation was careless and indifferent. Rahal talked of Stromness but her heart was far away from Stromness, and Thora would have liked to tell her mother how beautifully their future home had been papered, and all three were eager to discuss the news that had come. But all knew well that it would be better not to open the discussion till Ragnor was present to inform and direct their ignorance of events. On the stroke of six, Ragnor entered. He had slept and washed and was apparently calm, but in some way his face had altered, for his heart had mastered his brain and its usual expression of intellectual strength was exchanged for one of intense feeling. His eyes shone and he had the look of a man who had just come from the presence of God. "We are waiting for you, dear Coll," said Rahal; and he answered softly: "Well, then, I am here." For a moment his eyes rested on the table which Rahal had set with extra care and with the delicacies Ian liked best. Was it not the last dinner he would eat with them for three months? She thought it only kind to give it a little distinction. But this elaboration of the usual home blessings did not produce the expected results. Every one was anxious, the atmosphere of the room was tense and was not relieved until Ragnor had said a grace full of meaning and had sat down and asked Ian if he "had heard the news brought by that day's packet?" "Very brokenly, Father," was the answer. "Two men, whom we met on the Stromness road, told us that it was 'bad with the army,' but they were excited and in a great hurry and would not stand to answer our questions." "No wonder! No wonder!" "Whatever is the matter, Father?" "I cannot tell you. The words stumble in my throat, and my heart burns and bleeds. Here is the _London Times_! Read aloud from it what William Howard Russell has witnessed--I cannot read the words--I would be using my own words--listen, Rahal! Listen, Thora! and oh, may God enter into judgment at once with the men responsible for the misery that Russell tells us of." At this point, Adam Vedder entered the room. He was in a passion that was relieving itself by a torrent of low voiced curses--curses only just audible but intensely thrilling in their half-whispered tones of passion. In the hall he had taken off his hat but on entering the room he found it too warm for his top-coat, and he began to remove it, muttering to himself while so doing. There was an effort to hear what he was saying but very quickly Ragnor stopped the monologue by calling: "Adam! Thee! Thou art the one wanted. Ian is just going to read what the _London Times_ says of this dreadful mismanagement." "'Mismanagement!' Is that what thou calls the crime? Go on, Ian! More light on this subject is wanted here." So Ian stood up and read from the _Times'_ correspondent's letter the following sentences: "The skies are black as ink, the wind is howling over the staggering tents, the water is sometimes a foot deep, our men have neither warm nor waterproof clothing and we are twelve hours at a time in the trenches--and not a soul seems to care for their comfort or even their lives; the most wretched beggar who wanders about the streets of London in the rain leads the life of a prince compared with the British soldiers now fighting out here for their country. ... "The commonest accessories of a hospital are wanting; there is not the least attention paid to decency or cleanliness, the stench is appalling, the fetid air can barely struggle out through chinks in the walls and roofs, and for all I can observe the men die without the least effort being made to save them. They lie just as they were let down on the ground by the poor fellows, their comrades, who brought them on their backs from the camp with the greatest tenderness but who are not allowed to remain with them. The sick appear to be tended by the sick, and the dying by the dying. There are no nurses--and men are literally dying hourly, because the medical staff of the British army has forgotten that old rags of linen are necessary for the dressing of wounds." "My God!" cried Ian, as he let the paper fall from the hands he clasped passionately together, "My God! How can Thou permit this?" "Well, then, young man," said Adam, "thou must remember that God permits what He does not will. And Conall," he continued, "millions have been voted and spent for war and hospital materials, where are the goods?" "The captain of the packet told me no one could get their hands on them. Some are in the holds of vessels and other things so piled on the top of them that they cannot be got at till the hold is regularly emptied. Some are stored in warehouses which no one has authority to open--some are actually rotting on the open wharves, because the precise order to remove them to the hospital cannot be found. The surgeons have no bandages, the doctors no medicine, and as I said there are no nurses but a few rough military orderlies. The situation paralyses those who see it!" "Paralyses! Pure nonsense!" cried Vedder, whose face was wet with passionate tears, though he did not know it. "Paralyses! No, no! It must make them work miracles. I am going to Edinburgh tomorrow. I am going to buy all the luxuries and medicines I can afford for the lads fighting and suffering. Sunna is going to spend a week in gathering old linen in Kirkwall and then Mistress Brodie and she will bring it with them. Rahal, Thora, you must do your best. And thou, Conall?" "Adam, thou can open my purse and take all thou thinks is right. My Boris may be among those dear lads; his mother will have something to send him. Wilt thou see it is set on a fair way to reach his hand?" "I will take it to him. If he be in London with his vessel, I will find him; if he be at the front, I will find him. If he be in Scutari hospital, I will find him!" "Oh, Adam, Adam!" cried Rahal, "thou art the good man that God loves, the man after His own heart." Her face was set and stern and white as snow, and Thora's was a duplicate of it; but Ragnor, during his short interval of rest, had arrived at that heighth and depth of confidence in God's wisdom which made him sure that in the end the folly and wickedness of men would "praise Him"; so he was ready to help, and calm and strong in his sorrow. At this point, Rahal rose and a servant came in and began to clear the table and carry away the remains of the meal. Then Rahal rose and took Thora's hand and Ian went with them to the parlour. She spoke kindly to Ian who at her first words burst into bitter weeping, into an almost womanly burst of uncontrollable distress. So she kissed and left him with the only woman who had the power to soothe, in any degree, the sense of utter helplessness which oppressed him. "I want to go to the Crimea!" he said, "I would gladly go there. It would give me a chance to die happily. It would repay me for all my miserable life. I want to go, Thora. You want me to go, Thora! Yes, you do, dear one!" "No, I do not want you to go. I want you here. Oh, what a selfish coward I am. Go, Ian, if you wish--if you feel it right to go, then go." This subject was sufficient to induce a long and strange conversation during which Thora was led to understand that some great and cruel circumstances had ruined and in some measure yet controlled her lover's life. She was begging him to go and talk to her father and tell him all that troubled him so cruelly when Rahal entered the room again. "Dear ones," she said, "the house is cold and the lamps nearly out. Say good night, now. Ian must be up early--and tomorrow we shall have a busy day collecting all the old linen we can." She was yet as white as the long dressing gown she wore but there was a smile on her face that made it lovely as she recited slowly: "Watching, wondering, yearning, knowing Whence the stream, and where 'tis going Seems all mystery--by and by He will speak, and tell us why." And the simple words had a charm in them, and though they said "Good night," in a mist of tears, the sunshine of hope turned them into that wonderful bow which God 'bended with his hands' and placed in the heavens as a token of His covenant with man, that He would always remember man's weakness and give him help in time of trouble. Now let every good man and woman say "I'll warrant it! I never yet found a deluge of any kind but I found also that God had provided an ark for my refuge and my comfort." CHAPTER VIII THORA'S PROBLEM There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And triumph weeps above the brave. For them is Sorrow's purest sigh, O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent In vain their bones unburied lie, All earth becomes their monument. Born to the War of 1854 on October 21, 1854, a Daughter, called Red Cross. The next night Vedder went away. His purposes were necessarily rather vague, but it was certain he would go to the front if he thought he could do any good there. He talked earnestly and long with Ragnor but when it came to parting, both men were strangely silent. They clasped hands and looked long and steadily into each other's eyes. No words could interpret that look. It was a conversation for eternity. In the meantime, the whole town was eager to do something but what could they do that would give the immediate relief that was needed? There were no sewing machines then, women's fingers and needles could not cope with the difficulty, even regarding the Orkney men who were suffering. To gather from every one the very necessary old linen seemed to be the very extent of their usefulness. In these first days of the trouble, Rahal and Thora were serious and quiet. A dull, inexplicable melancholy shrouded the girl like a garment. The pretty home preparing for Ian and herself lost its interest. She refused to look forward and lived only in the unhappy present. The few words Ian has said about some wrong or trouble in the past years of his life overshadowed her. She was naturally very prescient and her higher self dwelt much in ... that finer atmosphere, Where footfalls of appointed things, Reverberent of days to be, Are heard in forecast echoings, Like wave beats from a viewless sea. However, if trouble lasts through the night, joy, or at least hope and expectation, comes in the morning; and certainly the first shock of grief settled down into patient hoping and waiting. Vedder and Ian were both good correspondents and the silence and loneliness were constantly broken by their interesting letters. And joyful or sorrowful, Time goes by. Sunna wrote occasionally but she said she found Edinburgh dull, and that she would gladly return to Kirkwall if it was not for the Pentland Firth and its winter tempers and tantrums. The war [she added] has stopped all balls and even house parties. There is no dancing and no sports of any kind, and I believe skating and golf have been forbidden. Love-making is the only recreation allowed and I am not tempted to sin in this direction. The churches are always open and their bells clatter all day long. I have no lovers. Every man will talk of the war, and then they get offended if you ask them why they are not gone. I have had the pleasure of saying a few painful truths to these feather-bed patriots, and they tell each other, no doubt, that I am impossible and impertinent. One of them said to me, myself: "Wait a wee, Miss Vedder, I wouldna wonder but some crippled war lad will fa' to your lot, when the puir fellows come marching home again." The Edinburgh men are just city flunkeys, they would do fine to wait on our Norse men. I would like well to see a little dandy advocate I know here, trotting after Boris. So days came and went, and the passion of shame and sorrow died down and people did not talk of the war. But the doors of St. Magnus stood open all day long and there were always women praying there. They had begun to carry their anxieties and griefs to God; and that was well for God did not weary of their complaining. Women have the very heart of sympathy for a man's griefs. God is the only refuge for a sorrowful woman. Steadily the preparations for Thora's marriage went on, but the spirit that animated their first beginnings had cooled down into that calm necessity, which always has to attend to all "finishings off." Early in December, Thora's future home was quite finished, and this last word expresses its beauty and completeness. Then Ragnor kissed his daughter, and put into her hand the key of the house and the deed of gift which made it her own forever. And in this same hour they decided that the first day of the New Year should be the wedding day; for Bishop Hedley would then be in Kirkwall and who else could marry the little Thora whom he had baptised and confirmed and welcomed into the fold of the church. Nothing is more remarkable than the variety of moods in which women take the solemn initiatory rite ushering them into their real life and their great and honourable duties. Thora was joyful as a bird in spring and never weary of examining the lovely home, the perfect wardrobe, and the great variety of beautiful presents that had been given her. Very soon it was the twentieth of December, and Ian was expected on the twenty-third. Christmas preparations had now taken the place of marriage preparations for every item was ready for the latter event. There had been a little anxiety about the dress and veil, but they arrived on the morning of the twentieth and were beautiful and fitting in every respect. The dress was of the orthodox white satin and the veil fell from a wreath of orange flowers and myrtle leaves. And oh, how proud and happy Thora was in their possession. Several times that wonderful day she had run secretly to her room to examine and admire them. On the morning of the twenty-first she reminded herself that in two days Ian would be with her and that in nine days she would be his wife. She was genuine and happy about the event. She made no pretences or reluctances. She loved Ian with all her heart, she was glad she was going to be always with him. Life would then be full and she would be the happiest woman in the world. She asked her father at the breakfast table to send her, at once, any letters that might come for her in his mail. "I am sure there will be one from Ian," she said, "and, dear Father, it hurts me to keep it waiting." About ten o'clock, Mrs. Beaton called and brought Thora a very handsome ring from Maximus Grant and a bracelet from herself. She stayed to lunch with the Ragnors and after the meal was over, they went upstairs to look at the wedding dress. "I want to see it on you, Thora," said Mrs. Beaton, "I shall have a wedding dress to buy for my niece soon and I would like to know what kind of a fit Mrs. Scott achieves." So Thora put on the dress, and Mrs. Beaton admitted that it "fit like a glove" and that she should insist on her niece Helen going to Mrs. Scott. With many scattering, delaying remarks and good wishes, the lady finally bid Thora good-bye and Mrs. Ragnor went downstairs with her. Then Thora eagerly lifted two letters that had come in her father's mail and been sent home to her. One was from Ian. "The last he will write to Thora Ragnor," she said with a smile. "I will put it with his first letter and keep them all my life long. So loving is he, so good, so handsome! There is no one like my Ian." Twice over she read his loving letter and then laid it down and lifted the one which had come with it. "Jean Hay," she repeated, "who is Jean Hay?" Then she remembered the writer--an orphan girl living with a married brother who did not always treat her as kindly as he should have done. Hearing and believing this story, Rahal Ragnor hired the girl, taught her how to sew, how to mend and darn and in many ways use her needle. Then discovering that she had a genius for dressmaking, she placed her with a first-class modiste in Edinburgh to be properly instructed and liberally attended to all financial requisites; for Rahal Ragnor could not do anything unless it was wholly and perfectly done. Then Thora had dressed Jean from her own wardrobe and asked her father to send their protegée to Edinburgh on one of the vessels he controlled. And Jean had been heartily grateful, had done well, and risen to a place of trust in her employer's business; and a few times every year she wrote to Mrs. Ragnor or Thora. All these circumstances were remembered by Thora in a moment. "Jean Hay!" she exclaimed. "Well, Jean, you must wait a few minutes, until I have taken off my wedding dress. I am sorry I had to put it on--it was not very kind or thoughtful of Mrs. Beaton to ask me--I don't believe mother liked her doing so--mother has a superstition or fret about everything. Well, then, it is no way spoiled----" and she lifted it and the white silk petticoat belonging to the dress and carefully put them in the place Rahal had selected as the safest for their keeping. It was a large closet in the spare room and she went there with them. As she returned to her own room she heard her mother welcoming a favourite visitor and it pleased her. "Now I need not hurry," she thought. "Mistress Vorn will stay an hour at least, and I can take my own time." "Taking her own time" evidently meant to Thora the reading of Ian's letter over again. And also a little musing on what Ian had said. There was, however, no hurry about Jean Hay's letter and it was so pleasant to drift among the happy thoughts that crowded into her consideration. So for half an hour Jean's letter lay at her side untouched--Jean was so far outside her dreams and hopes that afternoon--but at length she lifted it and these were the words she read: DEAR MISS THORA: I was hearing since last spring that thou wert going to be married on the son of the Rev. Dr. Macrae--on the young man called John Calvin Macrae. Very often I was hearing this, and always I was answering, "There will be no word of truth in that story. Miss Ragnor will not be noticing such a young man as that. No, indeed!" Here Thora threw down the letter and sat looking at it upon the floor as if she would any moment tear it to pieces. But she did not, she finally lifted it and forced herself to continue reading: I was hating to tell thee some things I knew, and I was often writing and then tearing up my letter, for it made me sick to be thy true friend in such a cruel way. But often I have heard the wise tell "when the knife is needed, the salve pot will be of no use." Now then, this day, I tell myself with a sad heart, "Jean, thou must take the knife. The full time has come." "Why won't the woman tell what she has got to tell," said Thora in a voice of impatient anguish, and in a few minutes she whispered, "I am cold." Then she threw a knitted cape over her shoulders and lifted the letter again, oh, so reluctantly, and read: The young man will have told your father, that he is McLeod's agent and a sort of steward of his large properties. This does not sound like anything wrong, but often I have been told different. Old McLeod left to his son many houses. Three of them are not good houses, they are really fashionable gambling houses. Macrae has the management of them as well as of many others in various parts of the city. Of these others I have heard no wrong. I suppose they may be quite respectable. This story has more to it. Whenever there is a great horse race there Macrae will be, and I saw myself in the daily newspapers that his name was among the winners on the horse Sergius. It was only a small sum he won, but sin is not counted in pounds and shillings. No, indeed! So there is no wonder his good father is feeling the shame of it. Moreover, though he calls himself Ian, that is not his name. His name is John Calvin and his denial of his baptismal name, given to him at the Sabbath service, in the house of God, at the very altar of the same, is thought by some to be a denial of God's grace and mercy. And he has been reasoned with on this matter by the ruling elder in his father's kirk, but no reason would he listen to, and saying many things about Calvin I do not care to write. Many stories go about young men and young women, and there is this and that said about Macrae. I have myself met him on Prince's Street in the afternoon very often, parading there with various gayly dressed women. I do not blame him much for that. The Edinburgh girls are very forward, not like the Norse girls, who are modest and retiring in their ways. I am forced to say that Macrae is a very gay young man, and of course you know all that means without more words about it. He dresses in the highest fashion, goes constantly to theatres with some lady or other, and I do not wonder that people ask, "Where does he get the money? Does he gamble for it?" For he does not go to any kirk on the Sabbath unless he is paid to go there and sing, which he does very well, people say. In his own rooms he is often heard playing the piano and singing music that is not sacred or fit for the holy day. And his father is the most religious man in Edinburgh. It is just awful! I fear you will never forgive me, Miss Thora, but I have still more and worse to tell you, because it is, as I may say, personally heard and not this or that body's clash-ma-claver. Nor did I seek the same, it came to me through my daily work and in a way special and unlooked-for, so that after hearing it, my conscience would no longer be satisfied and I was forced, as it were, to the writing of this letter to you. I dare say Macrae may have spoken to you anent his friendship with Agnes and Willie Henderson, indeed Willie Henderson and John Macrae have been finger and thumb ever since they played together. Now Willie's father is an elder in Dr. Macrae's kirk and if all you hear anent him be true--which I cannot vouch for--he is a man well regarded both in kirk and market place--that is, he was so regarded until he married again about two years ago. For who, think you, should he marry but a proud upsetting Englishwoman, who was bound to be master and mistress both o'er the hale household? Then Miss Henderson showed fight and her brother Willie stood by her. And Miss Henderson is a spunky girl and thought bonnie by some people, and has a tongue so well furnished with words to defend what she thinks her rights, that it leaves nobody uncertain as to what thae rights may be. Weel, there has been nothing but quarreling in the elder's house ever since the unlucky wedding; and in the first year of the trial Willie Henderson borrowed money--I suppose of John Macrae--and took himself off to America, and some said the elder was glad of it and others said he was sair down-hearted and disappointed. After that, Miss Agnes was never friends with her stepmother. It seems the woman wanted her to marry a nephew of her ain kith and kin, and in this matter her father was of the same mind. The old man doubtless wanted a sough of peace in his own home. That was how things stood a couple of weeks syne, but yestreen I heard what may make the change wanted. This is how it happened. Yesterday afternoon Mrs. Baird came to Madame David's to have a black velvet gown fitted. Madame called on Jean Hay to attend her in the fitting and to hang the long skirt properly--for it is a difficult job to hang a velvet skirt, and Jean Hay is thought to be very expert anent the set and swing of silk velvet, which has a certain contrariness of its own. Let that pass. I was kneeling on the floor, setting the train, when Mrs. Baird said: "I suppose you have heard, Madame, the last escapade of that wild son of the great Dr. Macrae?" Then I was all ears, the more so when I heard Madam say: "I heard a whisper of something, but I was not heeding it. Folks never seem to weary of finding fault with the handsome lad." "Well, Madame," said Mrs. Baird, "I happen to know about this story. Seeing with your own eyes is believing, surely!" "What did you see?" Madame asked. "I saw enough to satisfy me. You know my house is opposite to the West End Hotel, and last Friday I saw Macrae go there and he was dressed up to the nines. He went in and I felt sure he had gone to call on some lady staying there. So I watched, and better watched, for he did not come out for two hours, and I concluded they had lunched together! For when Macrae came out of the hotel, he spoke to a cabman, and then waited until a young lady and her maid appeared. He put the young lady into the cab, had a few minutes' earnest conversation with her, then the maid joined her mistress and they two drove away." "Well, now, Mrs. Baird," said Madame, "there was nothing in that but just a courteous luncheon together." "Wait, Madame! I felt there was more, so I took a book and sat down by my window. And just on the edge of the dark I saw the two women return, and a little later a waiter put lights in an upper parlour and he spread a table for dinner there and Macrae and the young lady ate it together. Afterwards they went away in a cab together." Then Madame asked if the maid was with them, and Mrs. Baird said she thought she was but had not paid particular attention. Madame said something to me about the length of the train and then Mrs. Baird seemed annoyed at her inattention, and she added: "Macrae was advertised to sing in the City Hall the next night at a mass meeting of citizens about abrogating slavery in the United States, and he was not there--broke his engagement! What do you think of that? The next night, Sabbath, he did the same to Dr. Fraser's kirk, where he had promised to sing a pro-Christmas canticle. And this morning I heard that he is going to the Orkneys to marry a rich and beautiful girl who lives there. Now what do you think of your handsome Macrae? I can tell you he is on every one's tongue." And Madame said, "I have no doubt of it and I'll warrant nobody knows what they are talking about." After this the fitting on was not pleasant and I finished my part of it as quickly as possible. Indeed, Miss Thora, I was miserable about you and so pressed in spirit to tell you these things that I could hardly finish my day's work. For my conscience kept urging me to do my duty to you, for it is many favours you have done me in the past. Kindly pardon me now, and believe me, Your humble but sincere friend, JEAN HAY. This letter Thora read to the last word but she was nearly blind when she reached it. All her senses rang inward. "I am dying!" she thought, and she tried to reach the bed but only succeeded in stumbling against a small table full of books, knocking it down and falling with it. Mistress Ragnor and her visitor heard the fall and they were suddenly silent. Immediately, however, they went to the foot of the stairway and called, "Thora." There was no answer, and the mother's heart sank like lead, as she hastened to her daughter's room and threw open the door. Then she saw her stricken child, lying as if dead upon the floor. Cries and calls and hurrying feet followed, and the unconscious girl was quickly freed from all physical restraints and laid at the open window. But all the ordinary household methods of restoring consciousness were tried without avail and the case began to assume a dangerous aspect. At this moment Ragnor arrived. He knelt at his child's side and drew her closer and closer, whispering her name with the name of the Divine One; and surely it was in response to his heart-breaking entreaties the passing soul listened and returned. "Father," was the first whisper she uttered; and with a glowing, grateful heart, the father lifted her in his arms and laid her on her bed. Then Rahal gave him the two letters and sent him away. Thora was still "far off," or she would have remembered her letters but it was near the noon of the next day when she asked her mother where they were. "Thy father has them." "I am sorry, so sorry!" That was all she said but the subject appeared to distress her for she closed her eyes, and Rahal kissed away the tears that slowly found their way down the white, stricken face. However, from this hour she rallied and towards night fell into a deep sleep which lasted for fourteen hours; and it was during this anxious period of waiting that Ragnor talked to his wife about the letters which were, presumably, the cause of the trouble. "Those letters I gave thee, Coll, did thou read both of them?" "Both of them I read. Ian's was the happy letter of an expectant bridegroom. Only joy and hope was in it. It was the other one that was a death blow. Yes, indeed, it was a bad, cruel letter!" "And the name? Who wrote it?" "Jean Hay." "Jean Hay! What could Jean have to do with Thora's affairs?" "Well, then, her conscience made her interfere. She had heard some evil reports about Ian's life and she thought it her duty, after yours and Thora's kindness to her, to report these stories." "A miserable return for our kindness! This is what I notice--when people want to say cruel things, they always blame their conscience or their duty for making them do it." "Here is Jean's letter. Thou, thyself, must read it." Rahal read it with constantly increasing anger and finally threw it on the table with passionate scorn. "Not one word of this stuff do I believe, Coll! Envy and jealousy sent that news, not gratitude and good will! No, indeed! But I will tell thee, Coll, one thing I have always found sure, it is this; that often, much evil comes to the good from taking people out of their poverty and misfortunes. They are paying a debt they owe from the past and if we assume that debt we have it to pay in some wise. That is the wisdom of the old, the wisdom learned by sad experience. I wish, then, that I had let the girl pay her own debt and carry her own burden. She is envious of Thora. Yet was Thora very good to her. Do I believe in her gratitude? Not I! Had she done this cruel thing out of a kind heart, she would have sent this letter to me and left the telling or the not telling to my love and best judgment. I will not believe anything against Ian Macrae! Nothing at all!" "Much truth is in thy words, Rahal, and it is not on Jean Hay's letter I will do anything. I will take only Ian's 'yes,' or 'no' on any accusation." "You may do that safely, Coll, I know it." "And I will go back to Edinburgh with him and see his father. Perhaps we have all taken the youth too far on his handsome person and his sweet amiability." "Thou wrote to his father when Thora was engaged to him, with thy permission." "Well, then, I did." "What said his father?" "Too little! He was cursed short about all I named. I told him Thora was good and fair and well educated; and that she would have her full share in my estate. I told him all that I intended to do for them about their home and the place which I intended for Ian in my business, and referred him to Bishop Hedley as to my religious, financial, social and domestic standing." "Why did thou name Bishop Hedley to him? They are as far apart as Leviticus and St. John. And what did he say to thee in reply?" "That my kindness was more than his son deserved, etc. In response to our invitation to be present at the marriage ceremony, he said it was quite impossible, the journey was too long and doubtful, especially in the winter; that he was subject to sea-sickness and did not like to leave his congregation over Sunday. Rahal, I felt the paper on which his letter was written crinkling and crackling in my hand, it was that stiff with ecclesiastic pomp and spiritual pride. I would not show thee the letter, I put it in the fire." "Poor Ian! I think then, that he has had many things to suffer." "Rahal, this is what I will do. I will meet the packet on Saturday and we will go first to my office and talk the Hay letter over together. If I bring Ian home with me, then something is possible, but if I come home alone, then Thora must understand that all is over--that the young man is not to be thought of." "That would kill her." "So it might be. But better is death than a living misery. If Ian is what Jean Hay says he is, could we think of our child living with him? Impossible! Rahal, dear wife, whatever can be done I will do, and that with wisdom and loving kindness. Thy part is harder, it must be with our dear Thora." "That is so. And if there has to be parting, it will be almost impossible to spread the plaster as far as the sore." "There is the Great Physician----" "I know." "Tell her what I have said." "I will do that; but just yet, she is not minding much what any one says." However, on Saturday afternoon Thora left her bed and dressed herself in the gown she had prepared for her bridegroom's arrival. The nervous shock had been severe and she looked woefully like, and yet unlike, herself. Her eyes were full of tears, she trembled, she could hardly support herself. If one should take a fresh green leaf and pass over it a hot iron, the change it made might represent the change in Thora. Jean Hay's letter had been the hot iron passed over her. She had been told of her father's decision, but she clung passionately to her faith in Ian and her claim on her father's love and mercy. "Father will do right," she said, "and if he does, Ian will come home with him." The position was a cruel one to Conall Ragnor and he went to meet the packet with a heavy heart. Then Ian's joyful face and his impatience to land made it more so, and Ragnor found it impossible to connect wrong-doing with the open, handsome countenance of the youth. On the contrary, he found himself without intention declaring: "Well, then, I never found anything the least zig-zaggery about what he said or did. His words and ways were all straight. That is the truth." Yet Ian's happy mood was instantly dashed by Ragnor's manner. He did not take his offered hand and he said in a formal tone: "Ian, we will go to my office before we go to the house. I must ask thee some questions." "Very well, sir. Thora, I hope, is all right?" "No. She has been very ill." "Then let me go to her, sir, at once." "Later, I will see about that." "Later is too late, let us go at once. If Thora is sick----" "Be patient. It is not well to talk of women on the street. No wise man, who loves his womenkin, does that." Then Ian was silent; and the walk through the busy streets was like a walk in a bad dream. The place and circumstances felt unreal and he was conscious of the sure presence of a force closing about him, even to his finger tips. Vainly he tried to think. He felt the trouble coming nearer and nearer, but what was it? What had he done? What had he failed to do? What was he to be questioned about? Young as he was his experiences had taught him to expect only injury and wrong. The Ragnor home and its love and truth had been the miracle that had for nine months turned his brackish water of life into wine. Was it going to fail him, as everything else had done? He laughed inwardly at the cruel thought and whispered to himself: "This, too, can be borne, but oh, Thora, Thora!" and the two words shattered his pride and made him ready to weep when he sat down in Ragnor's office and saw the kind, pitiful face of the elder man looking at him. It gave him the power he needed and he asked bluntly what questions he was required to answer. Ragnor gave him the unhappy letter and he read it with a look of anger and astonishment. "Father," he said, "all this woman writes is true and not true; and of all accusations, these are the worst to defend. I must go back to my very earliest remembrances in order to fairly state my case, and if you will permit me to do this, in the presence of your wife and Thora, I will then accept whatever decision you make." For at least three minutes Ragnor made no answer. He sat with closed eyes and his face held in the clasp of his left hand. Ian was bending forward, eagerly watching him. There was not a movement, not a sound; it seemed as if both men hardly breathed. But when Ragnor moved, he stood up. "Let us be going," he said, "they are anxious. They are watching. You shall do as you say, Ian." Rahal saw them first. Thora was lying back in her mother's chair with closed eyes. She could not bear to look into the empty road watching for one who might be gone forever. Then in a blessed moment, Rahal whispered, "They are coming!" "Both? Both, Mother?" "Both!" "Thank God!" And she would have cried out her thanks and bathed them in joyful tears if she had been alone. But Ian must not see her weeping. Now, especially, he must be met with smiles. And then, when she felt herself in Ian's embrace, they were both weeping. But oh, how great, how blessed, how sacramental are those joys that we baptise with tears! During the serving of dinner there was no conversation but such as referred to the war and other public events. Many great ones had transpired since they parted, and there was plenty to talk about: the battles of Balaklava and Inkerman had been fought; the never-to-be-forgotten splendour of Scarlett's Charge with the Heavy Brigade, and the still more tragically splendid one of the Light Brigade, had both passed into history. More splendid and permanent than these had been the trumpet "call" of Russell in the _Times_, asking the women of England who among them were ready to go to Scutari Hospital and comfort and help the men dying for England? "Now," he cried, "The Son of God goes forth to war! Who follows in His train?" Florence Nightingale and her band of trained nurses, mainly from the Roman Catholic Sisters of Mercy, and St. John's Protestant House, was the instant answer. In six days they were ready and without any flourish of trumpets, at the dark, quiet midnight, they left England for Scutari and in that hour the Red Cross Society was born. "How long is it since they sailed?" asked Rahal. "A month," answered Ian, "but the controversy about it is still raging in the English papers." "What has anyone to say against it?" asked Rahal. "The need was desperate, the answer quick. What, then, do they say?" "The prudery of the English middle class was shocked at the idea of young women nursing in military hospitals. They considered it 'highly improper.' Others were sure women would be more trouble than help. Many expect their health to fail, and think they will be sent back to English hospitals in a month." "I thought," said Ragnor, "that the objections were chiefly religious." "You are right," replied Ian. "The Calvinists are afraid Miss Nightingale's intention is to make the men Catholics in their dying hour. Others feel sure Miss Nightingale is an Universalist, or an Unitarian, or a Wesleyan Methodist. The fact is, Florence Nightingale is a devout Episcopalian." A pleasant little smile parted Ragnor's lips, and he said with an Episcopalian suavity: "The Wesleyans and the Episcopalians, in doctrine, are much alike. We regard them as brethren;" and just while he spoke, Ragnor looked like some ecclesiastical prelate. "There is little to wonder at in the churches disagreeing about Miss Nightingale," said Rahal, "it is not to be expected that they would believe in her, when they do not believe in each other." As she spoke she stepped to the fireside and touched the bell rope, and a servant entered and began to clear the table and put more wood on the fire, and to turn out one of the lamps at Rahal's order. Ragnor had gone out to have a quiet smoke in the fresh air while Rahal was sending off all the servants to a dance at the Fisherman's Hall. Ian and Thora were not interested in these things; they sat close together, talking softly of their own affairs. Without special request, they drew closer to the hearth and to each other. Then Ragnor took out a letter and handed it to Ian. He was sitting at Thora's side and her hand was in his hand. He let it fall and took the letter offered him. "I cannot explain this letter," he said, "unless I preface it with some facts regarding my unhappy childhood and youth. I am, as you know, the son of Dr. Macrae, but I have been a disinherited son ever since I can remember. I suppose that in my earliest years I was loved and kindly treated, but I have no remembrance of that time. I know only that before I was five years old, my father had accepted the solemn conviction that I was without election to God's grace. Personally I was a beautiful child, but I was received and considered, body and soul, as unredeemable. Father then regarded me as a Divine decree which it was his duty to receive with a pious acquiescence. My mother pitied and, in her way, loved me, and suffered much with me. I have a little sister also, who would like to love me, but there is in all her efforts just that touch of Phariseeism which destroys love." "But, Ian, there must have been some reason for your father's remarkable conviction?" "That is most likely. If so, he never explained the fact to me or even to my mother. She told me once that he did not suspect that I had missed God's election until I was between five and six years old. I suppose that about that age I began to strengthen his cruel fear by my antipathy to the kirk services and my real and unfortunate inability to learn the Shorter Catechism. This was a natural short-coming. I could neither spell or pronounce the words I was told to learn and to memorise them was an impossible thing." "Could not your mother help you?" "She tried. She wept over me as she tried, and I made an almost superhuman effort to comprehend and remember. I could not. I was flogged, I was denied food and even water. I was put in dark rooms. I was forbid all play and recreation. I went through this martyrdom year after year and I finally became stubborn and would try no longer. In the years that followed, until I was sixteen, my daily sufferings were great, but I remember them mainly for my mother's sake, who suffered with me in all I suffered. Nor am I without pity for my father. He honestly believed that in punishing me he was doing all he could to save me from everlasting punishment. Yes, sir! Do not shake your head! I have heard him praying, pleading with God, for some token of my election to His mercy. You see it was John Calvin." "John Calvin!" ejaculated Ragnor, "how is that?" "It was his awful tenets I had to learn; and when I was young I could not learn them, and when I grew older I would not learn them. My father had called me John Calvin and I detested the name. On my eighteenth birthday I asked him to have it changed. He was very angry at my request. I begged him passionately to do so. I said it ruined my life, that I could do nothing under that name. 'Give me your own name, Father,' I entreated, 'and I will try and be a good man!' "He said something to me, I never knew exactly what, but the last word was more than I could bear and my reply was an oath. Then he lifted the whip at his side and struck me." Rahal and Thora were sobbing. Ragnor looked in the youth's face with shining eyes and asked, almost in a whisper, "What did thou do?" "I had been struck often enough before to have made me indifferent, but at this moment some new strength and feeling sprang up in my heart. I seized his arms and the whip fell to the floor. I lifted it and said, 'Sir, if you ever again use a whip in place of decent words to me, I will see you no more until we meet for the judgment of God. Then I will pity you for the life-long mistake you have made.' My father looked at me with eyes I shall never forget, no, not in all eternity! He burst into agonizing prayer and weeping and I went and told mother to go to him. I left the house there and then. I had not a halfpenny, and I was hungry and cold and sick with an intolerable sense of wrong." "Father!" said Thora, in a voice broken with weeping. "Is not this enough?" And Ragnor leaned forward and took Thora's hand but he did not speak. Neither did he answer Rahal's look of entreaty. On the contrary he asked: "Then, Ian? Then, what did thou do?" "I felt so ill I went to see Dr. Finlay, our family physician. He knew the family trouble, because he had often attended mother when she was ill in consequence of it. I did not need to make a complaint. He saw my condition and took me to his wife and told her to feed and comfort me. I remained in her care four days, and then he offered to take me into his office and set me to reading medical text books, while I did the office work." "What was this work?" "I was taught how to prepare ordinary medicines, to see callers when the doctor was out, and make notes of, and on, their cases. I helped the doctor in operations, I took the prescriptions to patients and explained their use, etc. In three years I became very useful and helpful and I was quite happy. Then Dr. Finlay was appointed to some exceptionally fine post in India, private physician to some great Rajah, and the Finlay family hastily prepared for their journey to Delhi. I longed to go with them but I had not the money requisite. With Dr. Finlay I had had a home but only money enough to clothe me decently. I had not a pound left and mother could not help me, and Uncle Ian was in the Madeira Isles with his sick wife. So the Finlays went without me; and I can feel yet the sense of loneliness and poverty that assailed me, when I shut their door behind me and walked into the cold street and knew not what to do or where to go." "How old were you then, Ian?" asked Ragnor. "I was twenty years old within a few days, and I had one pound, sixteen shillings in my pocket. Five pounds from an Episcopal church would be due in two weeks for my solo and part singing in their services; but they were never very prompt in their payment and that was nothing to rely on in my present need. I took to answering advertisements, and did some of the weariest tramping looking for work that poor humanity can do. When I met Kenneth McLeod, I had broken my last shilling. I was like a hungry, lost child, and the thought of my mother came to me and I felt as if my heart would break. "The next moment I saw Kenneth McLeod coming up Prince's Street. It was nearly four years since we had seen each other, but he knew me at once and called me in his old kind way. Then he looked keenly at me, and asked: 'What is the matter, Ian? The old trouble?' "I was so heartless and hungry I could hardly keep back tears as I answered: 'It is that and everything else! Ken, help me, if you can.' 'Come with me!' he answered, and I went with him into the Queen's Hotel and he ordered dinner, and while we were eating I told him my situation. Then he said, 'I can help you, Ian, if you will help me. You know that all my happiness is on the sea and father kept me on one or another of his trading boats as much as possible from my boyhood, so that I am now a clever enough navigator. Two years ago my father died and I am in a lot of trouble about managing the property he left me. Now, if you will take the oversight of my Edinburgh property, I can take my favourite boat and look after the coast trade of the Northern Islands.' "What could I say? I was dumb with surprise and gratitude. I never thought there was anything wrong in our contract. I believed the work had come in answer to my prayer for help and I thanked God and Kenneth McLeod for it." Here Mrs. Ragnor rose, saying, "Coll, my dear one, Thora and I will now leave thee. I am sure Ian has done as well as he could do and we hope thou wilt judge him kindly." Then the women went upstairs and Ragnor remained silent until Ian said: "I am very anxious, sir." Then Ragnor stood up and slowly answered, "Ian, now is the time to take council of my pillow. What I have to say I will say later. This is not a thing to be settled by a yes or no. I must think over what thou hast told me. I must have some words with my wife and daughter. Sleep one night at least over thy trouble, there are many things to consider; especially this question of the young lady who is made the last count of Jean Hay's letter. What hast thou to say about her? She seems to have had some strong claim upon thy--shall we say friendship?" "You might say much more than friendship, sir, and yet wrong neither man nor woman by it. Why, the young lady was Agnes Henderson, the sister of Willie Henderson, who is my soul's brother and my second self. Thora must have heard all about Agnes!" "Is she Deacon Scot Henderson's daughter?" "Of course she is! Who else would I have left two engagements to serve? But Agnes is dear to me, perhaps dearer than my own sister. Since she was nine years old, we have studied and played together. Willie and Agnes were the only loves and only friends of my desolate boyhood. You have doubtless heard how unhappy the deacon's second marriage has been. Both Willie and Agnes refused the stepmother he gave them, and last year Willie went to New York, where he is doing very well. But Agnes has been more and more wretched, and a recent proposal of marriage between herself and the stepmother's nephew has made her life intolerable. Two weeks ago I had a letter from Willie, telling me he had just written her, advising an immediate 'give-up' of the whole situation. He told her to take the first good steamer and come to him. He also urged her to send for me and take my help and advice about the voyage. Two weeks ago last Friday she did so and I went at once to the West End Hotel to see her. She had disguised herself so cleverly that it was difficult to recognise her. I went with her to her sitting room and there I found the woman who had waited on her all her life long. I knew her well for she had often scolded me for leading Agnes into danger. "I ate lunch with Agnes and during it I told her to transfer all her money not required for travelling expenses to the Bank of New York; and I promised to go at once and secure a passage for herself and maid--for seeing that the _Atlantic_ would leave her dock for New York about the noon hour of the next day, haste was necessary. I did not wish to go to Liverpool because of my two engagements, but Agnes was so insistent on my presence I could not refuse her. Well, perhaps I was wrong to yield to her entreaties." "No, hardly," said Ragnor. "Going on board a big steamer at Liverpool must be a muddling business--not fit for two simple women like Agnes Henderson and her maid." "I don't remember thinking of that but I could hear my friend Willie telling me, 'See her safe on board, Ian. Don't leave her till she is in the captain's care. Do this for me, Ian!' And I did it for both Agnes' and Willie's sake but mainly for Willie's, for I love him. He is my right-hand friend, always. Perhaps I did wrong." "It is a pity there was any mystification about it. Was it necessary for Agnes Henderson to disguise herself?" "Perhaps not, but it prevented trouble and disappointment. Her father supposed her to be at her uncle's home. On Saturday afternoon he went to see her and found she had not been there at all. He returned to Edinburgh and could get no trace of her, nor was she located until I returned and informed him that she was on the _Atlantic_." There was a few moments of silence and then Ian said, "Have I done anything unpardonable? Surely you will not let that jealous, envious letter stand between Thora and myself?" Then Ragnor answered, "Tonight I will say neither this nor that on the matter. I will sleep over the subject and take counsel of One wiser than myself. Thou had better do likewise. Many things are to consider." And Ian went away without a word. There was anger in his heart, and as he sat gloomily in his dimly lit room and felt the damp chill of the midnight, he told himself that he had been hardly judged. "I have done nothing wrong," he whispered passionately. "Old McLeod collected his own rents and looked after his own property and no one thought he did wrong. He was an elder in one of the largest Edinburgh kirks and the favourite chairman in missionary meetings, but because I did not go to kirk, what was business in him was sin in me. "As to the gambling houses, I had nothing to do with them but to collect lawful money, due the McLeod estate; and as far as I can see, men who gamble for money are quite respectable if they get what they gamble for. There was that old reprobate Lord Sinclair. He redeemed the Sinclair estates by gambling and he married the beautiful daughter of the noble Seaforths. Nobody blamed him. Pshaw! It is all a matter of money--or it is my ill luck." And to such irritating reflections he finally fell asleep. CHAPTER IX THE BREAD OF BITTERNESS Sorrow develops the mind. It seems as if a soul was given us to suffer with-- Dust to dust, but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came A portion of the Eternal which must glow Through time and change unalterably the same. Our endless need is met by God's endless help. At her room door Thora bid her mother good night. Rahal desired to talk with her, but the girl shook her head and said wearily, "I want to think, Mother. I have no heart to speak yet." And Rahal turned sadly away. She knew that hour, that her child had come to a door for which she had no key and she left her alone with the situation she had to face. Nor did Thora just then realize that within the past hour her girlhood had vanished, and that she had suddenly become a woman with a woman's fate upon her and a woman's heart-rending problem to solve. How it came she did not enquire, yet she did recognise some change in herself. Hitherto, all her troubles had been borne by her father or mother. This trouble was her very own. No one could carry it for her but without any hesitation she accepted it. "I must find out the very root of this matter," she said to herself, "and I will not go to bed until I do. Nor is it half-asleep I will be over the question. I will sit up and be wide awake." So she put more peat and coal on her fire and lit a fresh candle; removed her day clothing and wrapped herself in a large down cloak. And the night was not cold for there was a southerly wind, and the gulf stream embraces the Orkneys, giving them an abnormally warm climate for their far-north latitude. And she had a passing wonder at herself for these precautions. A year ago, a week ago, she would have thrown herself upon her bed in passionate weeping or clung to her mother and talked her sorrow away in her loving sympathy and advice. But at this supreme hour of her life, she wanted to be alone. She did not wish to talk about Ian with any one. She was wide awake, quite sensible of the pain and grief at her heart, yet tearless and calm. Never before had she felt that dignity of soul, which looks straight into the face of its sorrow and feels itself equal to the bearing of it. She had as yet no idea that during that evening she had passed through that wonderful heart-experience, which suddenly ripens girlhood into womanhood. Indeed, they will be thoughtless girls--whatever their age--who can read this sentence and not pause and recall that marvellous transition in their own lives. To some it comes with a great joy, to others with a great sorrow but it is always a fateful event, and girls should be ready to meet and salute it. As soon as Thora had made herself and her room comfortable, she sat down and closed her eyes. All her life she had noticed that her mother shut her eyes when she wanted to think. Now she did the same, and then softly called Ian Macrae to the judgment of her heart and her inner senses, but she did it as naturally as women equally ignorant have done it in all ages, taking or refusing their advice or verdict as directed by their dominant desire, or their reason or unreason. With almost supernatural clearness she recalled his beautiful, yet troubled face, his hesitating manner, his restlessness in his chair, his nervous trifling with his watch chain or his finger ring. She recalled the fact that his voice had in it a strange tone and that his eyes reflected a soul fearful and angry. It was an unfamiliar Ian she called up, but oh! if it could ever become a familiar one. The first subject that pressed her for consideration was the suspicion of gambling. Certainly Ian had promptly denied the charge. He had even said that he never was in the gambling parlours but once, when he went into them very early with the porter, to assure himself that some new carpets asked for were really wanted. "Then," he added, "I found out that the demand was made by one of the club members, who had a friend who was a carpet manufacturer and expected to supply what was considered necessary." It must be recalled here that Norsemen, though sharp and keen in business matters, have no gambling fever in their blood. To get money and give nothing for it! That goes too far beyond their idea of fair business, and as for pleasure, they have never connected it with the paper kings and queens. They find in the sea and their ships, in adventure, in music and song, in dancing and story telling, all of pleasure they require. A common name for a pack of cards is "the devil's books," and in Orkney they have but few readers. Thora had partially exonerated Ian from the charge of gambling when she remembered Jean Hay's assertion that "wherever horses were racing, there Ian was sure to be and that he had been named in the newspapers as a winner on the horse Sergius." Ian had passed by this circumstance, and her father had either intentionally or unintentionally done the same. Once she had heard Vedder say that "horse racing produced finer and faster horses"; and she remembered well, that her father asked in reply, "If it was well to produce finer and faster horses, at the cost of making horsier men?" And he had further said that he did not know of any uglier type of man than a "betting book in breeches." She thought a little on this subject and then decided Ian ought to be talked to about it. Her lover's neglect of the Sabbath was the next question, for Thora was a true and loving daughter of the Church of England. Episcopacy was the kernel of her faith. She believed all bishops were just like Bishop Hedley and that the most perfect happiness was found in the Episcopal Communion. And she said positively to her heart--"It is through the church door we will reach the Home door, and I am sure Ian will go with me to keep the Sabbath in the cathedral. Every one goes to church in Kirkwall. He could not resist such a powerful public example, and then he would begin to like to go of his own inclination. I could trust him on this point, I feel sure." When she took up the next doubt her brow clouded and a shadow of annoyance blended itself with her anxious, questioning expression. "His name!" she muttered. "His name! Why did he woo me under a false name? Mother says my marriage to him under the name of Ian Macrae would not be lawful. Of course he intended to marry me with his proper name. He would have been sure to tell us all before the marriage day--but I saw father was angry and troubled at the circumstance. He ought to have told us long ago. Why didn't he do so? I should have loved him under any name. I should have loved him better under John than Ian. John is a strong, straight name. Great and good men in all ages have made John honourable. It has no diminutive. It can't be made less than John. Englishmen and lowland Scotch all say the four sensible letters with a firm, strong voice; only the Celt turns John into Ian. I will not call him Ian again. Not once will I do it." Then she covered her eyes with her hand and a sharp, chagrined catch of her breath broke the hush of the still room. And her voice, though little stronger than a whisper, was full of painful wonder. "What will people say? What shall we say? Oh, the shame! Oh, the mortification! Who will now live in my pretty home? Who will eat my wedding cake? What will become of my wedding dress? Oh, Thora! Thora! Love has led thee a shameful, cruel road! What wilt thou do? What can thou do?" Then a singular thing happened. A powerful thought from some forgotten life came with irresistible strength into her mind, and though she did not speak the words suggested, she prayed them--if prayer be that hidden, never-dying imploration that goes with the soul from one incarnation to another--for the words that sprang to her memory must have been learned centuries before, "Oh, Mary! Mary! Mother of Jesus Christ! Thou that drank the cup of all a woman's griefs and wrongs, pray for me!" And she was still and silent as the words passed through her consciousness. She thought every one of them, they seemed at the moment so real and satisfying. Then she began to wonder and ask herself, "Where did those words come from? When did I hear them? Where did I say them before? How do they come to be in my memory? From what strange depth of Life did they come? Did I ever have a Roman Catholic nurse? Did she whisper them to my soul, when I was sick and suffering? I must ask mother--oh, how tired and sleepy I feel--I will go to bed--I have done no good, come to no decision. I will sleep--I will tell mother in the morning--I wish I had let her stop with me--mother always knows--what is the best way----" And thus the heart-breaking session ended in that blessed hostel, The Inn of Dreamless Sleep. There was, however, little sleep in the House of Ragnor that night, and very early in the morning Ragnor, fully dressed, spoke to his wife. "Art thou waking yet, Rahal?" he asked, and Rahal answered, "I have slept little. I have been long awake." "Well then, what dost thou think now of Ian Macrae, so-called?" "I think little amiss of him--some youthful follies--nothing to make a fuss about." "Hast thou considered that the follies of youth may become the follies of manhood, and of age? What then?" "We are not told to worry about what may be." "Ian has evidently been living and spending with people far above his means and his class." "The Lowland Scotch regard a minister as socially equal to any peer. Are not the servants of God equal, and more than equal, to the servants of the queen? No society is above either they or their children. That I have seen always. And young men of fine appearance and charming manners, like Ian, are welcome in every home, high or low. Yes, indeed!" "Yet girls, as a rule, should not marry handsome men with charming manners, unless there is something better behind to rely on." "If thou had not been a handsome man with a charming manner, Rahal would not have married thee. What then?" "I would have been a ruined man. I cared for nothing but thee." "I believe that a girl of moral strength and good intelligence should be trusted with the choice of her destiny. It is not always that parents have a right to thrust a destiny they choose upon their daughter. If a man is not as good and as rich as they think she ought to marry they can point this out, and if they convince their child, very well; and if they do not convince her, also very well. Perhaps the girl's character requires just the treatment it will evolve from a life of struggle." "Thou art talking nonsense, Rahal. Thy liking for the young man has got the better of thy good sense. I cannot trust thee in this matter." "Well then, Coll, the road to better counsel than mine, is well known to thee." "I think Bishop Hedley arrived about an hour ago. There were moving lights on the pier, and as soon as the morning breaks I am going to see him." "Have thy own way. When a man's wife has not the wisdom wanted, it is well that he go to his Bishop, for Bishops are full of good counsel, even for the ruling of seven churches, so I have heard." "It is not hearsay between thee and Bishop Hedley. Thou art well acquainted with him." "Well then, in the end thou wilt take thy own way." "Dost thou want me to say 'yes' today, and rue it tomorrow? I have no mind for any such foolishness." "Coll, this is a time when deeds will be better than words." "I see that. Well then, the day breaks, and I will go"--he lingered a minute or two fumbling about his knitted gloves but Rahal was dressing her hair and took no further notice. So he went away in an affected hurry and both dissatisfied and uncertain. "What a woman she is!" he sighed. "She has said only good words, but I feel as if I had broken every commandment at once." He went away full of trouble and anxiety, and Rahal watched him down the garden path and along the first stretch of the road. She knew by his hurried steps and the nervous play of his walking stick that he was both angry and troubled and she was not very sorry. "If it was his business standing and his good name, instead of Thora's happiness and good repute that was the question, oh, how careful and conciliatory he would be! How anxious to keep his affairs from public discussion! It would be anything rather than that! I have the same feeling about Thora's good name. The marriage ought to go on for Thora's sake. I do not want the women of Kirkwall wondering who was to blame. I do not want them coming to see me with solemn looks and tearful voices. I could not endure their pitying of 'poor Miss Thora!' They would not dare go to Coll with their sympathetic curiosity, but there are such women as Astar Gager, and Lala Snackoll, and Thyra Peterson, and Jorunna Flett. No one can keep them away from a house in trouble. Thora must marry. I see no endurable way to prevent it." Then being dressed she went to Thora's room, and gently opened the door. Thora was standing at her mirror and she turned to her mother with a smiling face. Rahal was astonished and she said almost with a tone of disapproval, "I am glad to see thee able to smile. I expected to find thee weeping, and ill with weeping." "For a long time, for many hours, I was broken-hearted but there came to me, Mother, a strange consolation." Then she told her mother about the prayer she heard her soul say for her. "Not one word did I speak, Mother. But someone prayed for me. I heard them. And I was made strong and satisfied, and fell into a sweet sleep, though I had yet not solved the problem I had proposed to solve before I slept." "What was that problem?" "First, whether I should marry John just as he was, and trust the consequences to my influence over him; or whether I should refuse him altogether and forever; or whether I should wait and see what he can do with my father and the good Bishop, to help and strengthen him." And as Thora talked, Rahal's face grew light and sweet as she listened, and she answered--"Yes, my dear one, that is the wonderful way! Some soul that loved thee long, long ago, knew that thou wert in great trouble. Some woman's soul, perhaps, that had lived and died for love. The kinship of our souls far exceeds that of our bodies, and their help is swift and sure. Be patient with Ian. That is what I say." "But why that prayer? I never heard it before." "How little thou knowest of what thou hast heard before! Two hundred years ago, all sorrowful, unhappy women went to Mary with their troubles." "They should not have done so. They could have gone to Christ." "They thought Mary had suffered just what they were suffering, and they thought that Christ had never known any of the griefs that break a woman's heart. Mary knew them, had felt them, had wept and prayed over them. When my little lad Eric died, I thought of Mary. My family have only been one hundred years Protestants. All of them must have loved thee well enough to come and pray for thee. Thou had a great honour, as well as a great comfort." "At any rate I did no wrong! I am glad, Mother." "Wrong! Thou wilt see the Bishop today. Ask him. He will tell thee that the English Church and the English women gave up very reluctantly their homage to Mary. Are not their grand churches called after Peter and Paul and other male saints? Dost thou think that Christ loved Peter and Paul more than his mother? I know better. Please God thou wilt know better some day." "Churches are often called after Mary, as well as the saints." "Not in Scotland." "There is one in Glasgow. Vedder told me he used to hear Bishop Hedley preach there." "It is an Episcopal Church. Ask him about thy dream. No, I mean thy soul's experience." "Thou said _dream_, Mother. It was not a dream. I saw no one. I only heard a voice. It is what we see in dreams that is important." "Now wilt thou come to thy breakfast?" "Is _he_ downstairs yet?" "I will go and call him." Rahal, however, came to the table alone. She said, "Ian asked that he might lie still and sleep an hour or two. He has not slept all night long, I think," she added. "His voice sounded full of trouble." So the two women ate their breakfast alone for Ragnor did not return in time to join them. And Rahal's hopefulness left her, and she was silent and her face had a grey, fearful expression that Thora could not help noticing. "You look ill, Mother!" she said, "and you were looking so well when we came downstairs. What is it?" "I know not. I feel as if I was going into a black cloud. I wish that thy father would come home. He is in trouble. I wonder then what is the matter!" In about an hour they saw Ragnor and the Bishop coming towards the house together. "They are in trouble, Thora, both of them are in trouble." "About Thora they need not to be in trouble. She will do what they advise her to do." "It is not thee." "What then?" "I will not name my fear, lest I call it to me." Then she rose and went to the door and Thora followed her, and by this time, Ragnor and the Bishop were at the garden gate. Very soon the Bishop was holding their hands, and Rahal found when he released her hand that he had left a letter in it. Yet for a moment she hardly noticed the fact, so shocked was she at the expression of her husband's face. He looked so much older, his eyes were two wells of sorrow, his distress had passed beyond words, and when she asked, "What is thy trouble, Coll?" he looked at her pitifully and pointed to the letter. Then she took Thora's hand and they went to her room together. Sitting on the side of her bed, she broke the seal and looked at the superscription. "It is from Adam Vedder," she said, as she began to read it. No other word escaped her lips until she came to the end of the long epistle. Then she laid it down on the bed beside her and shivered out the words, "Boris is dying. Perhaps dead. Oh, Boris! My son Boris! Read for thyself." So Thora read the letter. It contained a vivid description of the taking of a certain small battery, which was pouring death and destruction on the little British company, who had gone as a forlorn hope to silence its fire. They were picked volunteers and they were led by Boris Ragnor. He had made a breach in its defences and carried his men over the cannon to victory. At the last moment he was shot in the throat and received a deadly wound in the side, as he tore from the hands of the Ensign the flag of his regiment, wrote Vedder. I saw the fight between the men. I was carrying water to the wounded on the hillside. I, and several others, rushed to the side of Boris. He held the flag so tightly that no hand could remove it, and we carried it with him to the hospital. For two days he remained there, then he was carefully removed to my house, not very far away, and now he has not only one of Miss Nightingale's nurses always with him but also myself. As for Sunna, she hardly ever leaves him. He talks constantly of thee and his father and sister. He sends all his undying love, and if indeed these wounds mean his death, he is dying gloriously and happily, trusting God implicitly, and loving even his enemies--a thing Adam Vedder cannot understand. He found out before he was twenty years old that loving his enemies was beyond his power and that nothing could make him forgive them. Our dear Boris! Oh, Rahal! Rahal! Poor stricken mother! God comfort thee, and tell thyself every minute "My boy has won a glorious death and he is going the way of all flesh, honoured and loved by all who ever knew him." Thy true friend, ADAM VEDDER. [Illustration: He made a breach in its defences and carried his men over cannon to victory.] This letter upset all other considerations, and when Ian came downstairs at the dinner hour, he found no one interested enough in his case to take it up with the proper sense of its importance. Ragnor was steeped in silent grief. Rahal had shut up her sorrow behind dry eyes and a closed mouth. The Bishop had taken the seat next to Thora. He felt as if no one had missed or even thought of him. And such conversation as there was related entirely to the war. Thora smiled at him across the table, but he was not pleased at Thora being able to smile; and he only returned the courtesy with a doleful shake of the head. After dinner Ian said something about going to see McLeod, and then the Bishop interfered--"No, Ian," he replied, "I want you to walk as far as the cathedral with me. Will you do that?" "With pleasure, sir." "Then let us be going, while there is yet a little sunshine." The cathedral doors stood open, but there was no one present except a very old woman, who at their approach rose from her knees and painfully walked away. The Bishop altered his course, so as to greet her--"Good afternoon, Sister Odd! Art thou suffering yet?" "Only the pain that comes with many years, sir. God makes it easy for me. Wilt thou bless me?" "Thou hast God's blessing. Who can add to it? God be with thee to the very end!" "Enough is that. Thy hand a moment, sir." For a moment they, stood silently hand clasped, then parted, and the Bishop walked straight to the vestry and taking a key from his pocket, opened the door. There was a fire laid ready for the match and he stooped and lit it, and Ian placed his chair near by. "That is good!" he said. "Bring your own chair near to me, Ian, I have something to say to you." "I am glad of that, Bishop. No one seemed to care for my sorrow. I was made to feel this day the difference between a son and a son-in-law." "There is a difference, a natural one, but you have been treated as a son always. Ragnor has told me all about those charges. You may speak freely to me. It is better that you should do so." "I explained the charges to the whole family. Do they not believe me?" "The explanation was only partial and one-sided. I think the charge of gambling may be put aside, with your promise to abstain from the appearance of evil for the future. I understand your position about the Sabbath. You should have gone on singing in some church. Supposing you got no spiritual help from it, you were at least lifting the souls of others on the wings of holy song, and you need not have mocked at the devout feelings of others by music unfit for the day." "It was a bit of boyish folly." "It was something far more than that. I had a letter from Jean Hay more than two months ago and I investigated every charge she made against you." "Well, Bishop?" "I find that, examined separately, they do not indicate any settled sinfulness; but taken together they indicate a variable temper, a perfectly untrained nature, and a weak, unresisting will. Now, Ian, a weak, good man is a dangerous type of a bad man. They readily become the tools of wicked men of powerful intellect and determined character. I have met with many such cases. Your change of name----" "Oh, sir, I could not endure Calvin tacked on to me! If you knew what I have suffered!" "I know it all. Why did you not tell the Ragnors on your first acquaintance with them?" "Mrs. Ragnor liked Ian because it is the Highland form for John, and Thora loved the name and I did not like, while they knew so little of me, to tell them I had only assumed it. I watched for a good opportunity to speak concerning it and none came. Then I thought I would consult you at this time, before the wedding day." "I could not have married you under the name of Ian. Discard it at once. Take it as a pet name between Thora and yourself, if you choose. No doubt you thought Ian was prettier and more romantic and suitable for your really handsome person." "Oh, Bishop, do not humiliate me! I----" "I have no doubt I am correct. I have known young men wreck their lives for some equally foolish idea." "I will cast it off today. I will tell Thora the truth tonight. Before we are married, I will advertise it in next week's _News_." "Before you are married, I trust you will have made the name of John Macrae so famous that you will need no such advertising." "What do you mean, Bishop?" "I want you to go to the trenches at Redan or to fight your way into Sebastopol. You have been left too much to your own direction and your own way. Obedience is the first round of the ladder of Success. You must learn it. You can only be a subordinate till you manage this lesson. Your ideas of life are crude and provincial. You need to see men making their way upward, in some other places than in shops and offices. Above all, you must learn to conquer yourself and your indiscreet will. You are not a man, until you are master in your own house and fear no mutiny against your Will to act nobly. You have had no opportunities for such education. Now take one year to begin it." "You mean that I must put off my marriage for a year." "Exactly. Under present circumstances----" "Oh, sir, that is not thinkable! It would be too mortifying! I could not go back to Edinburgh. I could not put off my marriage!" "You will be obliged to do so. Do you imagine the Ragnors will hold wedding festivities, while their eldest son is dying, or his broken body on its way home for burial?" "I thought the ceremony would be entirely religious and the festivities could be abandoned." "Is that what you wish?" "Yes, Bishop." "Then you will not get it. A year's strict mourning is due the dead, and the Ragnors will give every hour of it. Boris is their eldest son." "They should remember also their living daughter Thora will suffer as well as myself." "You are not putting yourself in a good light, John Macrae. Thora loves her brother with a great affection. Do you think she can comfort her grief for his loss, by giving you any loving honour that belongs to him? You do not know Thora Ragnor. She has her mother's just, strong character below all her gentle ways, and what her father and mother say she will endorse, without question or reluctance. Now I know that Ragnor had resolved on a year's separation and discipline, before he heard of his son's dangerous condition." "Boris was not dead when that Vedder letter was written. He may not be dead now. He may not be going to die." "It is only his wonderful physical strength that has kept him alive so long. Vedder said to me, they looked for his death at any hour. He cannot recover. His wound is a fatal one. It is beyond hope. Vedder wrote while he was yet alive, so that he might perhaps break the blow to his family." "What then do you advise me to do?" "Ragnor intends to go back with you and myself to Edinburgh. He will see your father and offer to buy you a commission as ensign in a good infantry regiment. We will ask your father if he will join in the plan." "My father will not join in anything to help me. How much will an ensign's commission cost?" "I think four or five hundred pounds. Ragnor would pay half, if your father would pay half." Then Ian rose to his feet, and his eyes blazed with a fire no one had ever seen there before. "Bishop," he said, "I thank you for all you propose, but if I go to the trenches at Redan or the camp at Sebastopol, I will go on John Macrae's authority and personality. I have one hundred pounds, that is sufficient. I can learn all the great things you expect me to learn there better among the rankers than the officers. I have known the officers at Edinburgh Castle. They were not fit candidates for a bishopric." The good man looked sadly at the angry youth and answered, "Go and talk the matter over with Thora." "I will. Surely she will be less cruel." "What do you wish, considering present circumstances?" "I want the marriage carried out, devoid of all but its religious ceremony. I want to spend one month in the home prepared for us, and then I will submit to the punishment and schooling proposed." "No, you will not. Do not throw away this opportunity to retrieve your so far neglected, misguided life. There is a great man in you, if you will give him space and opportunity to develop, John. This is the wide open door of Opportunity; go through, and go up to where it will lead you. At any rate do whatever Thora advises. I can trust you as far as Thora can." Then he held out his hand, and Ian, too deeply moved to speak, took it and left the cathedral without a word. He found Thora alone in the parlour. She had evidently been weeping but that fact did not much soothe his sense of wrong and injustice. He felt that he had been put aside in some measure. He was not sure that even now Thora had been weeping for his loss. He told himself, she was just as likely to have been mourning for Boris. He felt that he was unjustly angry but, oh, he was so hopeless! Every one was ready to give him advice, no one had said to him those little words of loving sympathy for which his heart was hungry. He had felt it to be his duty to try and console Thora, and Thora had wept in his arms and he had kissed her tears away. She was now weary with weeping and suffering with headache. She knew also that talking against any decision of her father's was useless. When he had said the word, the man or woman that could move him did not live. Acceptance of the will of others was a duty she had learned to observe all her life, it was just the duty that Ian had thought it right to resist. So amid all his love and disappointment, there was a cruel sense of being of secondary interest and importance, just at the very time he had expected to be first in everyone's love and consideration. Finally he said, "Dear Thora, I can feel no longer. My heart has become hopeless. I suffer too much. I will go to my room and try and submit to this last cruel wrong." Then Thora was offended. "There is no one to blame for this last cruel wrong but thyself," she answered. "The death of Boris was a nearer thing to my father and mother than my marriage. Thy marriage can take place at some other time, but for my dear brother there is no future in this life." "Are you even sure of his death?" "My mother has seen him." "That is nonsense." "To you, I dare say it is. Mother sees more than any one else can see. She has spiritual vision. We are not yet able for it, nor worthy of it." "Then why did she not see our wedding catastrophe? She might have averted it by changing the date." "Ask her;" and as Thora said these words and wearily closed her eyes, Rahal entered the room. She went straight to Ian, put her arms round him and kissed him tenderly. Then Ian could bear no more. He sobbed like a boy of seven years old and she wept with him. "Thou poor unloved laddie!" she said. "If thou had gone wrong, it would have been little wonder and little blame to thyself. I think thou did all that could be done, with neither love nor wisdom to help thee. Rahal does not blame thee. Rahal pities and loves thee. Thou hast been cowed and frightened and punished for nothing, all the days of thy sad life. Poor lad! Poor, disappointed laddie! With all my heart and soul I pity thee!" For a few moments there was not a word spoken and the sound of Ian's bitter weeping filled the room. Ian had been flogged many a time when but a youth, and had then disdained to utter a cry, but no child in its first great sorrow, ever wept so heart-brokenly as Ian now wept in Rahal's arms. And a man weeping is a fearsome, pitiful sound. It goes to a woman's heart like a sword, and Thora rose and went to her lover and drew him to the sofa and sat down at his side and, with promises wet with tears, tried to comfort him. A strange silence that the weeping did not disturb was in the house and room, and in the kitchen the servants paused in their work and looked at each other with faces full of pity. "The Wise One has put trouble on their heads," said a woman who was dressing a goose to roast for dinner and her helper answered, "And there is no use striving against it. What must be, is sure to happen. That is Right." "All that we have done, is no good. Fate rules in this thing. I see that." "The trouble came on them unawares. And if Death is at the beginning, no course that can be taken is any good." "What is the Master's will? For in the end, that will orders all things." "The mistress said the marriage would be put off for a year. The young man goes to the war." "No wonder then he cries out. It is surely a great disappointment." "Tom Snackoll had the same ill luck. He made no crying about it. He hoisted sail at midnight and stole his wife Vestein out of her window, and when her father caught them, they were man and wife. And Snackoll went out to speak to his father-in-law and he said to him, 'My wife can not see thee today, for she is weary and I think it best for her to be still and quiet'; and home the father went and no good of his journey. Snackoll got praise for his daring." "Well then," said a young man who had just entered, "it is well known that Vestein and her father and mother were all fully willing. The girl could as easily have gone out of the door as the window. Snackoll is a boaster. He is as great in his talk as a fox in his tail." Thus the household of Ragnor talked in the kitchen, and in the parlour Rahal comforted the lovers, and cheered and encouraged Ian so greatly that she was finally able to say to them: "The wedding day was not lucky. Let it pass. There is another, only a year away, that will bring lasting joy. Now we have wept over our mischance, we will bury it and look to the future. We will go and wash away sorrow and put on fresh clothes, and look forward to the far better marriage a year hence." And her voice and manner were so persuasive, that they willingly obeyed her advice and, as they passed her, she kissed them both and told Ian to put his head in cold water and get rid of its aching fever, for she said, "The Bishop will want thee to sing some of thy Collects and Hymns and thou wilt like to please him. He is thy good friend." "I do not think so." "He is. Thou may take that, on my word." The evening brought a braver spirit. They talked of Boris and of his open-hearted, open-air life, and the Bishop read aloud several letters from young men then at the front. They were full of enthusiasm. They might have been read to an accompaniment of fife and drums. Ian was visibly affected and made no further demur about joining them. One of them spoke of Boris "leading his volunteers up the hill like a lion"; and another letter described his tenderness to the wounded and convalescents, saying "he spent his money freely, to procure them little comforts they could not get for themselves." They talked plainly and from their hearts, hesitating not to call his name, and so they brought comfort to their heavy sorrow. For it is a selfish thing to shut up a sorrow in the heart, far better to look at it full in the face, speak of it, discuss its why and wherefore and break up that false sanctity which is very often inspired by purely selfish sentiments. And when this point was reached, the Bishop took from his pocket a small copy of the Apocrypha and said, "Now I will tell you what the wisest of men said of such an early death as that of our dear Boris: "'He pleased God, and he was beloved of him, so that living among sinners, he was translated. "'Yea speedily was he taken away, lest that wickedness should alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul. "'He, being made perfect in a short time, fulfilled a long time. "'For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted he to take him away from among the wicked.'" And these words fell like heavenly dew on every heart. There was no comfort and honour greater than this to offer even a mother's heart. A happy sigh greeted the blessed verses, and there was no occasion to speak. There was no word that could be added to it. Then Ian had a happy thought for before a spell-breaking word could be said, he stepped softly to the piano and the next moment the room was ringing with some noble lines from the "Men of Harlech" set to notes equally stirring: "Men of Harlech, young or hoary, Would you win a name in story, Strike for home, for life, for glory, Freedom, God and Right! "Onward! 'Tis our country needs us, He is bravest, he who leads us, Honour's self now proudly leads us, Freedom! God and Right! Loose the folds asunder! Flag we conquer under! Death is glory now." The words were splendidly sung and the room was filled with patriotic fervour. Then the Bishop gave Ragnor and Thora a comforting look, as he asked, "Who wrote that song, Ian?" "Ah, sir, it was never written! It sprang from the heart of some old Druid priest as he was urging on the Welsh to drive the Romans from their country. It is two verses from 'The Song of the Men of Harlech.'" "In olden times, Ian, the bards went to the battlefield with the soldiers. We ought to send our singers to the trenches. Ian, go and sing to the men of England and of France 'The Song of the Men of Harlech.' Your song will be stronger than your sword." "I will sing it to my sword, sir. It will make it sharper." Then Rahal said, "You are a brave boy, Ian," and Thora lifted her lovely face and kissed him. Every heart was uplifted, and the atmosphere of the room was sensitive with that exalted feeling which finds no relief in speech. Humanity soon reacts against such tension. There was a slight movement, every one breathed heavily, like people awakening from sleep, and the Bishop said in a slow, soft voice: "I was thinking of Boris. After all, the dear lad may return to us. Surgeons are very clever now, they can almost work miracles." "Boris will not return," said Rahal. "How can you know that, Rahal?" "He told me so." "Have you seen him?" "Yes." "When?" "On the afternoon of the eleventh of this month." "How?" "Well, Bishop, I was making the cap I am wearing and I was selecting from some white roses on my lap the ones I thought best. Suddenly Boris stood at my side." "You saw him?" "Yes, Bishop. I saw him plainly, though I do not remember lifting my head." "How did he look?" "Like one who had just won a victory. He was much taller and grander in appearance. Oh, he looked like one who had realized God's promise that we should be satisfied. A kind of radiance was around him and the air of a conquering soldier. And he was my boy still! He called me 'Mother,' he sent such a wonderful message to his father." And at the last word, Ragnor uttered just such a sharp, short gasp as might have come from the rift of a broken heart. "Did you ask him any question, Rahal?" "I could not speak, but my soul longed to know what he was doing and the longing was immediately answered. 'I am doing the will of the Lord of Hosts,' he said. 'I was needed here.' Then I felt his kiss on my cheek, and I lifted my head and looked at the clock. It had struck three just as I was conscious of the presence of Boris. It was only two minutes past three, but I seemed to have lived hours in that two minutes." "Do you think, Bishop, that God loves a soldier? He may employ them and yet not love them?" Then the Bishop straightened himself and lifted his head, and his face glowed and his eyes shone as he answered, "I will give you one example, it could be multiplied indefinitely. Paul of Tarsus, a pale, beardless young man, dressed as a Roman soldier, is bringing prisoners to Damascus. Christ meets him on the road and Paul knows instantly that he has met the Captain of his soul. Hence forward, he is beloved and honoured and employed for Christ, and at the end of life he is joyful because he has fought a good fight and knows that his reward is waiting for him. "God has given us the names of many soldiers beloved of Him--Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, David, etc. What care he took of them! What a friend in all extremities he was to them! All men who fight for their Faith, Home and Country, for Freedom, Justice and Liberty, are God's armed servants. They do His will on the battlefield, as priests do it at the altar. So then, "In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb driven cattle, Be a hero in the strife!" "We were speaking of the bards going to the battlefield with the soldiers, and as I was quoting that verse of Longfellow's a few lines from the old bard we call Ossian came into my mind." "Tell us, then," said Thora, "wilt thou not say the words to us, our dear Bishop?" "I will do that gladly: "Father of Heroes, high dweller of eddying winds, Where the dark, red thunder marks the troubled cloud, Open Thou thy stormy hall! Let the bards of old be near. Father of heroes! the people bend before thee. Thou turnest the battle in the field of the brave, Thy terrors pour the blasts of death, Thy tempests are before thy face, But thy dwelling is calm above the clouds, The fields of thy rest are pleasant." "When I was a young man," he continued, "I used to read Ossian a good deal. I liked its vast, shadowy images, its visionary incompleteness, just because we have not yet invented the precise words to describe the indescribable." So they talked, until the frugal Orcadian supper of oatmeal and milk, and bread and cheese, appeared. Then the night closed and sealed what the day had done, and there was no more speculation about Ian's future. The idea of a military life as a school for the youth had sprung up strong and rapidly, and he was now waiting, almost impatiently, for it to be translated into action. A few restful, pleasant days followed. Ragnor was preparing to leave his business for a week, the Bishop was settling some parish difficulties, and Ian and Thora were permitted to spend their time as they desired. They paid one farewell visit to their future home and found an old woman who had nursed Thora in charge of the place. "Thou wilt find everything just so, when you two come home together, my baby," she said. "Not a pin will be out of its place, not a speck of dust on anything. Eva will always be ready, and please God you may call her far sooner than you think for." The Sabbath, the last Sabbath of the old year, was to be their last day together, and the Bishop desired Ian to make it memorable with song. Ian was delighted to do so and together they chose for his two solos, "O for the Wings of a Dove," and the heavenly octaves of "He Hath Ascended Up on High and Led Captivity Captive." The old cathedral's great spaces were crowded, the Bishop was grandly in the spirit, and he easily led his people to that solemn line where life verges on death and death touches Immortality. It was Christ the beginning, and the end; Christ the victim on the cross, and Christ the God of the Ascension! And he sent every one home with the promise of Immortality in their souls and the light of it on their faces. His theme had touched largely on the Christ of the Resurrection, and the mystery and beauty of this Christ was made familiar to them in a way they had not before considered. Ragnor was afraid it had perhaps been brought too close to their own conception of a soul, who was seen on earth after the death of the body. "You told the events of Christ's forty days on earth after His crucifixion so simply, Bishop," he said, "and yet with much of the air that our people tell a ghost story." "Well then, dear Conall, I was telling them the most sacred ghost story of the world, and yet it is the most literal reality in history. If it were only a dream, it would be the most dynamic event in human destiny." "You see, Bishop, there is so much in your way of preaching. It has that kind of good comradeship which I think was so remarkable in Christ. His style was not the ten commandments' style--thou shalt and thou shalt not--but that reasoning, brotherly way of 'What man is there among you that would not do the kind and right thing?' You used it this very morning when you cried out, 'If our dear England needed your help to save her Liberty and Life, what man is there among you that would not rise up like lions to save her?' And the men could hardly sit still. It was so real, so brotherly, so unlike preaching." "Conall, nothing is so wonderful and beautiful in Christ's life as its almost incredible approachableness." This sermon had been preached on the Sabbath morning and it spiritualized the whole day. Ian's singing also had proved a wonderful service, for when the young men of that day became old men, they could be heard leading their crews in the melodious, longing strains of 'O for the Wings of a Dove,' as they sat casting their lines into the restless water. In the evening a cold, northwesterly wind sprang up and Thora and Ian retreated to the parlour, where a good fire had been built; but the Bishop and Ragnor and Rahal drew closer round the hearth in the living room and talked, and were silent, as their hearts moved them. Rahal had little to say. She was thinking of Ian and of the new life he was going to, and of the long, lonely days that might be the fate of Thora. "The woeful laddie!" she whispered, "he has had but small chances of any kind. What can a lad do for himself and no mother able to help him!" The Bishop heard or divined her last words and he said, "Be content, Rahal. Not one, but many lives we hold, and our hail to every new work we begin is our farewell to the old work. Ian is going to give a Future to his Past." "I fear, Bishop----" "Fear is from the earthward side, Rahal. Above the clouds of Fear, there is the certain knowledge of Heaven. Fear is nothing, Faith is everything!" CHAPTER X THE ONE REMAINS, THE MANY CHANGE AND PASS You Scotsmen are a pertinacious brood; Fitly you wear the thistle in your cap, As in your grim theology. O we're not all so fierce! God knows you'll find, Well-combed and smooth-licked gentlemen enough, Who will rejoice with you To sneer at Calvin's close-wedged creed. --BLACKIE. Sow not in Sorrow, Fling your seed abroad, and know God sends tomorrow, The rain to make it grow. --BLACKIE. There are epochs in every life that cut it sharply asunder, its continuity is broken and things can never be the same again. This was the dominant feeling that came to Thora Ragnor, as she sat with her mother one afternoon in early January. It was a day of Orkney's most uncomfortable and depressing kind, the whole island being swept by drifting clouds of vapour, which not only filled the atmosphere but also the houses, so that everything was to the touch damp and uncomfortable. Nothing could escape its miserable contact, even sitting on the hearthstone its power was felt; and until a good northwester came to dissipate the damp moisture, nobody expected much from any one's temper. Thora was restless and unhappy. Her life appeared to have been suddenly deprived of all joy and sunshine. She felt as if everything was at an end, or might as well be, and her mother's placid, peaceful face irritated her. How could she sit knitting mufflers for the soldiers in the trenches, and not think of Boris and also of Ian, whom they had all conspired to send to the same danger and perhaps death? She could not understand her mother's serenity. It occurred to her this afternoon, that she might have run away with Ian to Shetland and there her sisters would have seen her married; and she did not do this, she obeyed her parents, and what did she get for it? Loneliness and misery and her lover sent far away from her. Oh, those moments when Virtue has failed to reward us and we regret having served her! To the young, they are sometimes very bitter. And her mother's calmness! It not only astonished, it angered her. How could she sit still and not talk of Boris and Ian? It was a necessary relief to Thora, their names were at her lips all day long. But Thora had yet to learn that it is the middle-aged and the old who have the power of hoping through everything, because they have the knowledge that the soul survives all its adventures. This is the great inspiration, it is the good wine which God keeps to the last. The old, the way-worn, the faint and weary, they know this as the young can never know it. However, we may say to bad weather, as to all other bad things, "this, too, will pass," and in a couple of days the sky was blue, the sun shining, and the atmosphere fresh and clear and full of life-giving energy. Ships of all kinds were hastening into the harbour and the mail boat, broad-bottomed and strongly built, was in sight. Then there was a little real anxiety. There was sure to be letters, what news would they bring? Some people say there is no romance in these days. Very far wrong are they. These sealed bits of white paper hold very often more wonderful romances than any in the Thousand Nights of story telling. Rahal's and Thora's anxiety was soon relieved. A messenger from the warehouse came quickly to the house, with a letter from Ragnor to Rahal and a letter from Ian to Thora. Ragnor's letter said they had had a rough voyage southward, the storm being in their faces all the way to Leith. There they left the boat and took a train for London, from which place they went as quickly as possible to Spithead, fearing to miss the ship sailing for the Crimea on the eleventh. Ragnor said he had seen Ian safely away to Sebastopol and observed that he was remarkably cheerful and satisfied. He spoke then of his own delight with London and regretted that he had not made arrangements which would permit him to stay a week or two longer there. Thora's letter was a genuine love letter, for Ian was deeply in love and everything he said was in the superlative mood. Lovers like such letters. They are to them the sacred writings. It did not seem ridiculous to Thora to be called "an angel of beauty and goodness, the rose of womanhood, the lily on his heart, his star of hope, the sunshine of his life," and many other extravagant impossibilities. She would have been disappointed if Ian had been more matter-of-fact and reasonable. So there was now comparative happiness in the house of Ragnor, for though the master's letters were never much more than plain statements of doings or circumstances, they satisfied Rahal. It is not every man that knows how to write to a woman, even if he loves her; but women have a special divinity in reading love letters, and they know beyond all doubting the worth of words as affected by those who use them. Ragnor gave himself a whole week in London and before leaving that city for Edinburgh he wrote a few lines home, saying he intended to stay in London over the following Sabbath and hear Canon Liddon preach. On Monday he would reach Edinburgh and on Tuesday have an interview with Dr. Macrae and then take the first boat for home. They could now wait easily, the silence had been broken, the weather was good, they had "The History of Pendennis" and "David Copperfield" to read, their little duties and little cares to attend to, and they were not at all unhappy. At length, the master was to be home _that_ day. If the wind was favourable, he might arrive about two o'clock, but Rahal thought the boat would hardly manage it before three with the wind in her teeth, or it might be nearer four. The house was all ready for him, spick and span from roof to cellar and a dinner of the good things he particularly liked in careful preparation. And, after all, he came a little earlier than was expected. "Dear Conall," said Rahal, "I have been watching for thee, but I thought it would be four o'clock, ere thou made Kirkwall." "Not with Donald Farquar sailing the boat. The way he manages a boat is beyond reason." "How is that?" "He talks to her, as if she was human. He scolds and coaxes her and this morning he promised to paint and gild her figurehead, if she got into Kirkwall before three. Then every sailor on board helped her and the wind changed a point or two and that helped her, and now and then Farquar pushed her on, with a good or bad word, and she saved herself by just eleven minutes." "And how well thou art looking! Never have I seen thee so handsome before, never! What hast thou been doing to Conall Ragnor?" "I will tell thee. When I had bid Ian good-bye, I resolved to take a week's holiday in London and as I walked down the Strand, I noticed that every one looked at me, not unkindly but curiously, and when I looked at the men who looked at me, I saw we were different. I went into a barber's first, and had my hair cut like Londoners wear it, short and smart, and not thick and bushy, like mine was." "Well then, thy hair was far too long but they have cut off all thy curls." "I like the wanting of them. They looked very womanish. I'm a deal more purpose-like without them. Then I went to a first-class tailor-man and he fit me out with the suit I'm wearing. He said it was 'the correct thing for land or water.' What dost thou think of it?" "Nothing could be more becoming to thee." "Nay then, I got a Sabbath Day suit that shames this one. And I bought a church hat and a soft hat that beats all, and kid gloves, and a good walking stick with a fancy knob." "Thou art not needing a walking stick for twenty years yet." "Well then, the English gentlemen always carries a walking stick. I think they wouldn't know the way they were going without one. At last, I went to the shoemakers, and he made me take off my 'Wellingtons.' He said no one wore them now, and he shod me, as thou sees, very comfortably. I like the change." Then they heard Thora calling them, and Ragnor taking Rahal's hand hastened to answer the call. She was standing at the foot of the stairway, and her father kissed her and as he did so whispered--"All is well, dear one. After dinner, I will tell thee." Then he took her hand, and the three in one went together to the round table, set so pleasantly near to the comfortable fireside. Standing there, hand-clasped, the master said those few words of adoration and gratitude that turned the white-spread board into a household altar. Dinner was on the table and its delicious odours filled the room and quickly set Ragnor talking. "I will tell you now, what I saw in London," he said. "Ian is a story good enough to keep until after dinner. I saw him sail away from Spithead, and he went full of hope and pluck and sure of success. Then I took the first train back to London. I got lodgings in a nice little hotel in Norfolk Street, just off the Strand, and London was calling me all night long." "Thou could not see much, Father, in one week," said Thora. "I saw the Queen and the Houses of Parliament, and I saw the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey and the Crystal Palace. And I have heard an oratorio, with a chorus of five hundred voices and Sims Reeves as soloist. I have been to Drury Lane, and the Strand Theatres, to a big picture gallery, and a hippodrome. My dear ones, the end of one pleasure was just the beginning of another; in one week, I have lived fifty years." Any one can understand how a new flavour was added to the food they were eating by such conversation. Not all the sauces in Christendom could have made it so piquant and appetizing. Ragnor carved and ate and talked, and Rahal and Thora listened and laughed and asked endless questions, and when the mind enters into a meal, it not only prolongs, it also sweetens and brightens it. I suppose there may be in every life two or three festivals, that stand out from all others--small, unlooked-for meetings, perhaps--where love, hope, wonder and happy looking-forward, made the food taste as if it had been cooked in Paradise. Where, at least for a few hours, a mortal might feel that man had been made only a little lower than the angels. Now, if any of my readers have such a memory, let them close the book, shut their eyes and live it over again. It was probably a foretaste of a future existence, where we shall have faculties capable of fuller and higher pleasures; faculties that without doubt "will be satisfied." For in all hearts that have suffered, there must abide the conviction that the Future holds Compensation, not Punishment. But without forecast or remembrance, the Ragnors that night enjoyed their highly mentalised meal, and after it was over and the table set backward, and the white hearth brushed free of ashes, they drew around the fire, and Ragnor laid down his pipe, and said: "I left London last Monday, and I was in Edinburgh until Wednesday morning. On Tuesday I called on Dr. Macrae. I had a letter to give him from Ian." "Why should Ian have written to him?" asked Rahal, in a tone of disapproval. "Because Ian has a good heart, he wrote to his father. I read the letter. It was all right." "What then did he say to him?" "Well, Rahal, he told his father that he was leaving for the front, and he wished to leave with his forgiveness and blessing, if he would give it to him. He said that he was sure that in their life-long dispute he must often have been in the wrong, and he asked forgiveness for all such lapses of his duty. He told his father that he had a clear plan of success before him, but said that in all cases--fortunate or unfortunate--he would always remember the name he bore and do nothing to bring it shame or dishonour. A very good, brave letter, dear ones. I give Ian credit for it." "Did thou advise him to write it?" asked Rahal. "No, it sprang from his own heart." "Thou should not have sanctioned it." "Ian did right, Rahal. I did right to sanction it." "Father, if Ian has a clear plan of success before him, what is it? He ought to have told us." "He thought it out while we were at sea, he asked me to explain the matter to you. It is, indeed, a plan so simple and manifest, that I wonder we did not propose it at the very first. You must recollect that Ian was in the employ of Dr. Finlay of Edinburgh for three years and a half, and that during that period he acquired both a large amount of medical knowledge and also of medical experience. Now we all know that Ian has a special gift for this science, especially for its surgical side, and he is not going to the trenches or the cavalry, he is going to offer himself to the Surgical and Medical Corps. He will go to the battlefield, carry off the wounded, give them first help, or see them to the hospital. In this way he will be doing constant good to others and yet be forwarding the career which is to make his future happy and honourable." "Then Ian has decided to be a surgeon, Father?" "Yes, and I can tell thee, Thora, he has not set himself a task beyond his power. I think very highly of Ian, no one could help doing so; and see here, Thora! I have a letter in my pocket for thee! He gave it to me as I bid him good-bye at Spithead." "I am so happy, Father! So happy!" "Thou hast good reason to be happy. We shall all be proud of Ian in good time." "Did thou give Ian's letter to his father's hands, or did thou mail it, Coll?" "I gave it to him, personally." "What was thy first impression of him?" "He gave me first of all an ecclesiastical impression. I just naturally looked for a gown or surplice. He wanted something without one. He met me coldly but courteously, and taking Ian's letter from me, placed it deliberately upon a pile of letters lying on his desk. I said, 'It is from thy son, Doctor, perhaps thou had better read it at once. It is a good letter, sir, read it.' "He bowed, and asked if Ian was with me. I said, 'No, sir, he is on his way to Scutari.' Then he was silent. After a few moments he asked me if I had been in Edinburgh during the past Sabbath. 'You should have been here,' he added, 'then you could have heard the great Dr. Chalmers preach.' I told him that I had spent that never-to-be-forgotten Sabbath under the blessed dome of St. Paul's in London. I said something about the transcending beauty of the wonderful music of the cathedral service, and spoke with delight of the majestic nave, filled with mediæval rush-bottomed chairs for the worshippers, and I told him how much more fitting they were in the House of God than pews." And Ragnor uttered the last word with a new-found emphasis. "He asked, quite scornfully, in what sense I found them more fitting, and I answered rather warmly--'Why, sir, sitting together in chairs, we felt so much more at home. We were like one great family in our Father's house.'" "Are the chairs rented?" asked Rahal. "Rented!" cried Ragnor scornfully. "No, indeed! There are no dear chairs and no cheap chairs, all are equal and all are free. I never felt so like worshipping in a church before. The religious spirit had free way in our midst." "What did Macrae say?" "He said, he supposed the rush chairs were an 'Armenian innovation'; and I answered, 'The pews, sir, they are the innovation.'" "Did thou have any argument with him? I have often heard Ian say he plunged into religious argument with every one he met." "Well, Rahal, I don't know how it happened, but I quickly found myself in a good atmosphere of contradictions. I do not remember either what I had been saying, but I heard him distinctly assert, that 'it was the Armenians who had described the Calvinists, and they had not wasted their opportunities.' Then I found myself telling him that Armenianism had ruled the religious world ever since the birth of Christianity; but that Calvinism was a thing of yesterday, a mere Geneva opinion. Rahal, the man has a dogma for a soul, and yet through this hard veil, I could see that he was full of a longing for love; but he has not found out the way to love, his heart is ice-bound. He made me say things I did not want to say, he stirred my soul round and round until it boiled over, and then the words would come. Really, Rahal, I did not know the words were in my mind, till his aggravating questions made me say them." "What words? Art thou troubled about them?" "A little. He was talking of faith and doubt, especially as it referred to the Bible, and I listened until I could bear it no longer. He was asking what proof there was for this, and that, and the other, and as I said, he got me stirred up beyond myself and I told him I cared nothing about proofs. I said proofs were for sceptics and not for good men who _knew_ in whom they had believed." "Well then, Coll, that was enough, was it not?" "Not for Macrae. He said immediately, 'Suppose there was no divine authority for the scheme of morals and divinity laid down in this Book,' and he laid his hand reverently on the Bible, 'where should we be?' And I told him, we should be just where we were, because God's commands were written on every conscience and that these commands would stand firm even if creeds became dust, and Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Paul, all failed and passed away. 'Power of God!' I cried, as I struck the table with my fist, 'it takes God's tireless, patient, eternal love to put up with puny men, always doubting Him. I believe in God the Father Almighty, the Maker of heaven and earth!' I said, 'and I want no proofs about Him in whom I believe.' By this time, Rahal, he had me on fire. I was ready to deny anything he asserted, especially about hell, for thou knows, Rahal, that there are hells in this world and no worse needed. So when he asked if I believed in the Calvinistic idea of hell, I answered, 'I deny it! My soul denies it--utterly!' I reminded him that God spoke to Dives in hell and called him son and that Dives, even there, clung to the fatherhood of God. And I told him this world was a hell to those who deserved hell, and a place of much trial to most men and women, and I thought it was poor comfort to preach to such, that the next world was worse. There now! I have told you enough. He asked me to lunch with him, and I did; and I told him as we ate, what a fine fellow Ian was, and he listened and was silent." "Then you saw Ian's mother and sister?" asked Thora. "No, I did not. They had gone for the winter to the Bridge of Allan. Mrs. Macrae is sick, her husband seemed unhappy about her." Rahal hoped now that her home would settle itself into its usual calm, methodical order. She strove to give to every hour its long accustomed duty, and to infuse an atmosphere of rest and of "use and wont" into every day's affairs. It was impossible. The master of the house had suffered a world change. He had tasted of strange pleasures and enthusiasms, and was secretly planning a life totally at variance with his long accustomed routine and responsibilities. He did not speak of the things in his heart but nevertheless they escaped him. Very soon he began to have much more regular communication with his sons in Shetland, and finally he told Rahal that he intended taking his son Robert into partnership. Such changes grew slowly in Ragnor's mind, and much more slowly in practice, but Rahal knew that they were steadily working to some ultimate, and already definite and determined end in her husband's will. The absent also exerted a far greater power upon the home than any one believed. Ian's letters came with persistent regularity, and the influence of one was hardly spent, when another arrived of quite a different character. Ian was rapidly realizing his hopes. He had been gladly taken into a surgical corps, under the charge of a Doctor Frazer, and his life was a continual drama of stirring events. Generally he wrote between actions, and then he described the gallant young men resting on the slopes of the beleaguered hill, with their weapons at their finger tips, but always cheerful. Sometimes he spoke of them under terrible fire in their life-or-death push forward, followed by the surgeons and stretcher-bearers. Sometimes, he had been to the trenches to dress a wound that would not stop bleeding, but always he wondered at seeing the resolute grit and calmness of these young men, who had been the dandies in London drawing-rooms a year ago and who were now smoking placidly in the trenches at Redan. "What is it?" he asked an old surgeon, on whom he was waiting. "Is it recklessness?" "No, sir!" was the answer. "It is straight courage. Courage in the blood. Courage nourished on their mother's milk. Courage educated into them at Eton or Rugby, in many a fight and scuffle. Courage that lived with them night and day at Oxford or Cambridge, and that made them choose danger and death rather than be known for one moment as a cad or a coward. It was dancing last year. It is fighting in a proper quarrel this year. Different duties, that is all." Every now and then Sunna dropped them letters about which there was much pleasant speculating, for as the summer came forward, she began to accept the disappointments made by the death of Boris, and to consider what possibilities of life were still within her power. She said in May that "she was sick and weary of everything about Sebastopol, and that she wanted to go back to Scotland, far more frantically than she ever wanted to leave it." In June, she said, she had got her grandfather to listen to reason, but had been forced to cry for what she wanted, a humiliation beyond all apologies. Her next letter was written in Edinburgh, where she declared she intended to stay for some time. Maximus Grant was in Edinburgh with his little brother, who was under the care and treatment of an eminent surgeon living there. "The poor little laddie is dying," she said, "but I am able to help him over many bad hours, and Max is not half-bad, that is, he might be worse if left to himself. Heigh-ho! What varieties of men, and varieties of their trials, poor women have to put up with!" As the year advanced Sunna's letters grew bright and more and more like her, and she described with admirable imitative piquancy the literary atmosphere and conversation which is Edinburgh's native air. In the month of November, little Eric went away suddenly, in a paroxysm of military enthusiasm, dying literally the death of a soldier "with tumult, with shouting, and with the sound of the trumpets," in his soul's hearing. "We adored him," wrote Sunna, in her most fervent religious mood, which was just as sincere as any other mood. "He was such a loving, clever little soul, and he lay so long within the hollow of Death's sickle. There he heard and saw wonderful things, that I would not dare to speak of. Max has wept very sincerely. It is my lot apparently, to administer drops of comfort to him. In this world, I find that women can neither hide nor run away from men and their troubles, the moment anything goes wrong with them, they fly to some woman and throw their calamity on her." "It is easy to see which way Sunna is drifting," said Rahal, after this letter had been read. "She will marry Maximus Grant, of course." "Mother, her grandfather wishes that marriage. It is very suitable. His silent, masterful way will cure Sunna's faults." "It will do nothing of the kind. What the cradle rocks, the spade buries. If Sunna lives to be one hundred years old--a thing not unlikely--she will be Sunna. Just Sunna." During all this summer, Ragnor was deeply engrossed in his business, and the Vedders remained in Edinburgh, as did also Mistress Brodie, though she had had all the best rooms in her Kirkwall house redecorated. "It is her hesitation about grandfather. She will, and she won't," wrote Sunna, "and she keeps grandfather hanging by a hair." Then she made a few scornful remarks about "the hesitating _liaisons_ of old women" and concluded that it all depended upon the marriage ceremony. Grandfather [she wrote] wants to sneak into some out of the way little church, and get the business over as quickly and quietly as possible; and Mistress Brodie has dreams of a peach-bloom satin gown, and a white lace bonnet. She thought "that was enough for a second affair"; and when I gently hoped that it was at least an affair of the heart, she said with a distinct snap, "Don't be impertinent, Miss!" However, all this is but the overture to the great matrimonial drama, and it is rather interesting. I saw by a late London paper that Thora's lover has gone and got himself decorated, or crossed, for doing some dare-devil sort of thing about wounded men. I wonder how Thora will like to walk on Pall Mall with a man who wears a star or a medal on his breast. Such things make women feel small. For, of course, we could win stars and medals if we had the chance. Max considers Ian "highly praise-worthy." Max lately has a way of talking in two or three syllables. I am trying to remember where I left my last spelling book; I fear I shall have to get up my orthography. The whole of this year A. D. 1855 was one of commonplaces stirred by tragic events. It is this conjunction that makes the most prosaic of lives always a story. It only taught Thora and Rahal to make the most of such pleasures as were within their reach. In the evening Ragnor was always ready to share what they had to offer, but in the daytime he was getting his business into such perfect condition that he could leave it safely in charge of his son Robert for a year, or more, if that was his wish. On the second of March, the Czar Nicholas died, and there was good hope in that removal. In June, General Raglan died of cholera, and on the following fifth of September, the Russians, finding they could no longer defend Sebastopol, blew up its defences and also its two immense magazines of munitions. This explosion was terrific, the very earth appeared to reel. The town they deliberately set on fire. Then on Sunday morning, September the ninth, the English and French took possession of the great fortress, though it was not until the last day of February, A. D. 1856, that the treaty of peace was signed. After the occupation of Sebastopol, however, there was a cessation of hostilities, and the hospitals rapidly began to empty and the physicians and surgeons to return home. Dr. Frazer remained at his post till near Christmas, and was then able to leave the few cases remaining in the charge of competent nurses. Ian remained at his side and they returned to England together. It was then within a few days of Christmas, and Ian hastened northward without delay. There was no hesitating welcome for him now; he was met by the truest and warmest affection, he was cheerfully given the honour which he had faithfully won. And the wedding day was no longer delayed, it was joyfully hastened forward. Bishop Hedley, the Vedders and Maximus Grant had already arrived and the little town was all agog and eager for the delayed ceremony. Sunna had brought with her Thora's new wedding dress and the day had been finally set for the first of January. "Thou will begin a fresh life with a fresh year," said Rahal to her daughter. "A year on which, as yet, no tears have fallen; and which has not known care or crossed purpose. On its first page thou will write thy marriage joy and thy new hopes, and the light of a perfect love will be over it." In the meantime life was full of new delights to Thora. Wonderful things were happening to her every day. The wedding dress was here. Adam Vedder had brought her a pretty silver tea service, Aunt Barbie--now Madame Vedder--had remembered her in many of those womanwise ways, that delight the heart of youth. Even Dominie Macrae had sent her a gold watch, and the little sister-in-law had chosen for her gift some very pretty laces. Rich and poor alike brought her their good-will offerings, and many old Norse awmries were ransacked in the search for jewels or ornaments of the jade stone, which all held as "luck beyond breaking." The present which pleased Thora most of all was a new wedding-dress, the gift of her mother. The rich ivory satin was perfect and peerless in its exquisite fit and simplicity; jewels, nor yet lace, could have added nothing to it. Sunna had brought it with her own toilet. In fact, she was ready to make a special sensation with it on the first of January, for her wedding garment as Thora's bridesmaid was nothing less than a robe of gold and white shot silk, worn over a hoop. She had been wearing a hoop all winter in Edinburgh, but she was quite sure she would be the first "hooped lady" to appear in Kirkwall town. Thora might wear the bride veil, with its wreath of myrtle and rosemary, but she had a pleasant little laugh, as she mentally saw herself in the balloon of white and gold shot silk, walking majestically up the nave of St. Magnus. It was so long since hoops had been worn. None of the present generation of Kirkwall women could ever have seen a lady in a hoop, and behind the present generation there was no likelihood of any hooped ladies in Kirkwall. Thora had no hoop. Her orders had been positively against it and unless Madame Vedder had slipped inside "the bell" she could not imagine any rival. As she made this reflection, she smiled, and then translated the smile into the thought, "If she has, she will look like a haystack." Now Ian's military suit in his department had been of white duff or linen, plentifully adorned with gilt buttons and bands representing some distinctive service. It was the secret desire of Ian to wear this suit, and he rather felt that Thora or his mother-in-law should ask him to do so. For he knew that its whiteness and gilt, and tiny knots of ribbon, gave to the wearer that military air, which all men yearn a little after. He wished to wear it on his wedding day but Thora had not thought of it, neither had Sunna. However, on the 29th, Rahal, that kind, wise woman, asked him as a special favour, to wear his medical uniform. She said, "the townsfolk would be so disappointed with black broadcloth and a pearl-grey waistcoat. They longed to see him as he went onto the battlefield, to save or succour the wounded." "But, Mother," he answered, "I went in the plainest linen suit to bring in the wounded and dying." "I know, dear one, but they do not know, and it is not worth while destroying an innocent illusion, we have so few of them as we grow old." "Very well, Mother, it shall be as you wish." "Of course Ian wished to wear it," said Sunna. "Oh, Sunna, you must not judge all men from Max." "I am far from that folly. Your father has been watching the winds and the clouds all day. So have I. Conall Ragnor is always picturesque, even poetical. I feel safe if I follow him. He says it will be fine tomorrow. I hope so!" This hope was more than justified. It was a day of sunshine and little wandering south winds, and the procession was a fact. Now Ragnor knew that this marriage procession, as a national custom, was passing away, but it had added its friendliness to his own and all his sons' and daughters' weddings and he wanted Thora's marriage ceremonial to include it. "When thou art an old woman, Thora," he said to her, "then thou wilt be glad to have remembered it." At length the New Year dawned and the day arrived. All was ready for it. There was no hurry, no fret, no uncertainty. Thora rode to the cathedral in the Vedder's closed carriage with her father and mother. Ian was with Maximus and Sunna in the Galt landeau. Adam Vedder and his bride rode together in their open Victoria and all were ready as the clock struck ten. Then a little band of stringed instruments and young men took their place as leaders of the procession, and when they started joyfully "Room for the Bride!" the carriages took the places assigned them and about two hundred men and women, who had gathered at the Ragnor House, followed in procession, many joining in the singing. The cathedral was crowded when they reached it, and Dr. Hedley in white robes came forward to meet the bride and, with smiles and loving good will, to unite her forever to the choice of her soul. It was almost a musical marriage. Melody began and followed and closed the whole ceremonial. About twenty returned with the bridal party to the Ragnor House to eat the bridal dinner, but the general townsfolk were to have their feast and dance in the Town Hall about seven in the evening. The Bishop stayed only to bless the meal, for the boat was waiting that was to carry him to a Convocation of the Church then sitting in Edinburgh. But he wore his sprig of rosemary on his vest, and he stood at Ragnor's right hand and watched him mix the Bride Cup, watched him mingle in one large silver bowl of pre-Christian age the pale, delicious sherry and fine sugar and spices and stir the whole with a strip of rosemary. Then every guest stood up and was served with a cup, most of them having in their hand a strip of rosemary to stir it with. And after the Bishop had blessed the bride and blessed the bridegroom, he said, "I will quote for you a passage from an old sermon and after it, you will stir your cup again with rosemary and grow it still more plentifully in your gardens. "The rosemary is for married men and man challengeth it, as belonging properly to himself. It helpeth the brain, strengtheneth the memory, and affects kindly the heart. Let this flower of man ensign your wisdom, love and loyalty, and carry it, not only in your hands, but in your heads and hearts." Then he lifted his glass and stirred the wine with his strip of rosemary, and as he did so all followed his example, while he repeated from an old romance the following lines: ... "Before we divide, Let us dip our rosemaries In one rich bowl of wine, to this brave girl And to the gentleman." With these words he departed, and the utmost and happiest interchange of all kinds of good fellowship followed. Every man and woman was at perfect ease and ready to give of the best they had. Even Adam Vedder delighted all, and especially his happy-looking bride, by his clever condensation of Sunna's favourite story of "The Banded Men." No finished actor could have made it, in its own way, a finer model of dramatic narrative, especially in its quaint reversal of the parts usually played by father and son, into those of the prodigal father and the money-loving, prudent son. Then a little whisper went round the table and it sprang from Sunna, and people smiled and remembered that Adam had won his wife from three younger men than himself and, as if by a single, solid impulse, they stirred their wine cups once more and called for a cheer for the old bridegroom, who had been faithful for forty years to his first love and had then walked off with her, from Provost, Lawyer and Minister; all of them twenty years younger than himself. Getting near to three o'clock, they began to sing and Rahal was pleased to hear that sound of peace, for several guests were just from the battlefield and quite as ready for a quarrel as a song. Also during the little confusion of removing fruit and cake and glasses, and the substitution of the cups and saucers and the strong, hot, sweet tea that every Norseman loves, Ian and Thora slipped away without notice. Max Grant's carriage put them in half-an-hour on the threshold of their own home. They crossed it hand and hand and Ian kissed the hand he held and Thora raised her face in answer; but words have not yet been invented that can speak for such perfect happiness. Love is rich in his own right, He is heir of all the spheres, In his service day and night Swing the tides and roll the years. What has he to ask of fate? Crown him, glad or desolate. Time puts out all other flames But the glory of his eyes; His are all the sacred names, His the solemn mysteries. Crown him! In his darkest day He has Heaven to give away! Ian's business arrangements curtailed the length of any festivity in relation to the marriage. He had already signed an agreement with Dr. Frazer to return to him as soon as possible after the twelfth day and remain as his assistant until he was fully authenticated a surgeon by the proper schools. In the meantime he would enter the London School of Medicine and Surgery and give to Dr. Frazer all the time not demanded by its hours and exercises. For this attention Ian was to receive from Dr. Frazer one hundred pounds a year. Furthermore, when Ian had received the proper authority to call himself Dr. John Macrae, he was to have the offer of a partnership with Dr. Frazer, on what were considered very favourable terms. So their little romance was at last happily over. Ian was an infinitely finer and nobler man. He had dwelt amid great acts and great suffering for a year and had not visited the House of Mourning in vain. All that was light and trifling had fallen away from him. He regarded his life and talents now as a great and solemn charge and was resolved to make them of use to his fellows. And Thora was lovelier than she had ever been. She had learned self-restraint and she had hoped through evil days, till good days came; so then, she knew how to look for good when all appeared wrong and by faith and will, bring good out of evil. After Thora and her husband left for London a great change took place in the Ragnor home. Ragnor had been preparing for it ever since his visit to London and, within a month, Robert Ragnor and his wife and family came from Shetland and took possession. It gave Rahal a little pain to see any woman in her place but that was nothing, she was going to give her dear Coll the dream of his life. She was going to travel with him, and see all the civilized countries in the world! She was going to London first, and last, of all! CHAPTER XI SEQUENCES Not long ago I found in a list of Orkney and Shetland literature several volumes by a Conall Ragnor, two of them poetry. But that just tended to certify a suspicion. Sixty years ago I had heard him repeat some Gallic poems and had known instinctively, though only a girl of eighteen, that the man was a poet. It roused in me a curiosity I felt it would be pleasant to gratify, and so a little while after I began this story, I wrote to a London newspaper man and asked him to send me some of his Orkney exchanges. I have a habit of trusting newspaper editors and I found this one as I expected, willing and obliging. He sent me two Orkney papers and the first thing I noticed was the prevalence of the old names. Among them I saw Mrs. Max Grant, and I thought I would write to her and take my chance of the lady turning out to be the old Sunna Vedder. It was quite a possibility, as we were apparently about the same age when I saw her. It was only for an hour or two in the evening we met, at the Ragnor house, but girls see a deal in an hour or two and if I remembered her, she had doubtless chronicled an opinion of me. In about five weeks Mrs. Grant's letter in answer to mine arrived. She began it by saying she remembered me, because I wore a hat, a sailor's hat, and she said it was the first hat she ever saw on a woman's head. She said also, that I told her women were beginning to wear them for shopping and walking and driving, or out at sea, but never for church or visiting. All of which I doubtless said, for it was my first hat. And I do not remember women wearing hats at all until about this time. I suppose [she continued] thou wants to know first of all about the Vedders. They were _the_ people then, and they have not grown a bit smaller, nor do they think any less of themselves yet. My grandfather married again and was not sorry for it. I don't know whether his wife was sorry or not. I took Maximus Grant for a husband for, after Boris Ragnor died, I did not care who I took, provided he had plenty of good qualities and plenty of gold. We lived together thirty years very respectably. I took my way and I usually expected him to do the same. We had four sons, and they have nine sons among them, and all of the nine are now fighting the vipers they have been coddling for forty or fifty years. Some are in the regular army, some in the navy, and some in the plucky, fighting little navy, patrolling England and her brood of coastwise islands. They are a tough, rough, hard lot, but I love them all better than anything else in this world. There are a good many Vedder houses in Orkney, and they are all full of little squabbling, fighting, never clean, and never properly dressed little brats, from four to eleven years old. So I don't worry about there being Vedders enough to run things the way they want them run. The Ragnors are here in plenty. All the men are at the war, all the women running fishing boats or keeping general shops, to which I like to see the Germans going. They are told what kind of people they are as they walk up to the shops; and they get what they want at an impoverishing price. Serve them right! Men, however, will pay any money for a thing they want. There has not been such good times in Orkney since I was born, as there is now. We have an enemy to beat in trade and an enemy to beat in fight at our very doors, and our men are neither to hold nor to bind, they are that top-lofty. War is a man's native air. My sons and grandsons are all two inches taller than they were and they defy Nature to contradict them. I never attempt it. Well, then, they are proper men in all things, a little hard to deal with and masterful, but just as I wish them. My grandfather died fifty years ago, he might have lived longer if he had not married. His widow wept in the deepest black and people thought she was sorry. The Ragnors are mostly here and in Shetland. Conall Ragnor never really settled down again. Rahal and he lived in Edinburgh or London, when not travelling. I heard that Conall wrote books and really got money for them. I cannot believe that. Rahal died first. Conall lived a month after her. They were laid in earth in Stromness Church-yard. My grandfather wanted to bring the body of Boris home and bury it in Stromness, and I would not let him. He is all mine where he sleeps in the Crimea. I don't want him among a congregation of his brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts. * * * * * I suppose thou must have heard of Thora's husband. He really did become famous, and I was told his father forgave him all his youthful follies. It was said Thora managed that in some clever way; but I'm sure I don't know what to say. Thora never seemed at all clever to me. She had many children, but she died long ago, though she did live long enough to see her husband knighted and her eldest boy marry the daughter of a lord. I have no doubt she was happy in her own way, only she never did dress herself as a person in the best society ought to have done. I once told her so. "Well, then," she said, "I dress to please my husband." Imagine such simplicity! As to myself I am getting near to ninety, but I live a good life and God helps me. I have kept my fine hair and complexion and I run around on my little errands quite comfortably. Indeed I am sunwise able for everything I want. I shall be glad to hear from thee again, and if thou wilt send me occasionally some of those delightful American papers, thou wilt make me much thy debtor. Also, I want thee to tell all the brave young Americans thou knows that if they would like a real life on the ocean wave, they ought to join our wonderful patrol round the English coast. They will learn more and see more and feel more in a month, in this little interfering navy, than they'd learn in a lifetime in a first-class man-of-war. Write to me again and then we shall have tied our friendship with a three-fold letter. Thine, with all good will and wishes, SUNNA VEDDER GRANT. This is a woman's letter and it must have a postscript. It is only two lines of John Stuart Blackie's, and it should have been at the beginning, but it will touch your heart at the end as well as at the beginning. "Oh, for a breath of the great North Sea, Girdling the mountains!" S. V. G. * * * * * Transcriber Notes Fixed probable typos. Hyphenation standardized. Archaic and variable spelling is preserved. Author's punctuation style is preserved, except quote marks, which have been standardized. Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. 
14149	----	THE PILOTS OF POMONA A Story of the Orkney Islands by ROBERT LEIGHTON CONTENTS Chapter I. In Which I Am Late For School. Chapter II. Andrew Drever's School Chapter III. A Half Holiday. Chapter IV. Sandy Ericson, Pilot. Chapter V. The Hen Harrier. Chapter VI. "Better Gear Than Rats." Chapter VII. What The Shingle Revealed. Chapter VIII. Dividing The Spoil. Chapter IX. Captain Gordon. Chapter X. The Dominie Explains. Chapter XI. My Sister Jessie. Chapter XII. A Tragedy And A Transportation. Chapter XIII. In Which I Receive A Present. Chapter XIV. Thora. Chapter XV. In Which The Viking's Amulet Is Proved. Chapter XVI. Wherein I Go A-Fishing. Chapter XVII. How The Golden Rule Was Kept. Chapter XVIII. The Wreck Of The "Undine." Chapter XIX. Tom Kinlay's Bargain. Chapter XX. The Opposition Boat. Chapter XXI. The Rescue. Chapter XXII. After The Accident. Chapter XXIII. Gray's Inn. Chapter XXIV. Carver Kinlay's Success. Chapter XXV. A Family Removal. Chapter XXVI. A Subterranean Adventure. Chapter XXVII. A Family Misfortune. Chapter XXVIII. Captain Flett Of The "Falcon." Chapter XXIX. In Which The "Falcon" Sets Sail. Chapter XXX. An Orcadian Voyage. Chapter XXXI. An Arctic Waif. Chapter XXXII. The Last Of The "Pilgrim." Chapter XXXIII. The Light In The Gaulton Cave. Chapter XXXIV. Colin Lothian Makes An Accusation. Chapter XXXV. A Search And A Discovery. Chapter XXXVI. Trapped In The Cave. Chapter XXXVII. In Which I Am Put Under Arrest. Chapter XXXVIII. Accused Of Murder. Chapter XXXIX. An Unprofessional Inquiry. Chapter XL. Ephraim Quendale. Chapter XLI. The Last Of The Kinlays. Chapter XLII. A Choice Among Three. Chapter XLIII. Thora's Answer. Notes. Chapter I. In Which I Am Late For School. On a certain bright morning in the month of May, 1843, the little port of Stromness wore an aspect of unwonted commotion. The great whaling fleet that every year sailed from this place for the Greenland fisheries was busily preparing for sea. The sun was shining over the brown hills of Orphir, and casting a golden sheen over the calm bay. Out beyond the Holms the whaling ships lay at anchor, the Blue Peter flying at each forepeak, and between them and the town many boats were passing to and fro. I remember the day, not so much in connection with the whaling ships themselves as by the fact that their sailing fixes upon my memory the date of other more personal events which I am about to set forth in the following pages. Indeed, I was altogether unaffected by the departure of the ships. As I sat on the edge of one of the tiny stone piers that support the old houses along the shoreline, my bare feet dangling above the clear green water, I thought only of my fishing line and of the row of bright-scaled sillocks that lay on a stone at my side, being quite unmindful that the school bell had long since begun to ring. A small boat passed within a few yards of the jetty, rowed by Tom Kinlay, one of my schoolfellows. "Now, then, Ericson," he cried out as he saw me; "d'ye not hear the bell? Hurry up, lad, or you'll be late again. Aha! I'll tell the dominie that you're sitting there fishing when you should be at the school. Come away now, or ye'll get your licks." Without seeming to hear his warning, I drew in my line with a good young coal fish at the end of it, and quietly counted my catch. There were just three-and-twenty fish, and I could not resist the temptation of making up the even two dozen; so I baited my hook again and cast it into the water, meditating as I did so upon Kinlay's unnecessary interference. Now Tom Kinlay, I must tell you, was some twelve months older than I, and, as I had reason to remember, much taller and stronger. In our early school days he had exercised a tyranny over me which I even now recall with feelings partly of indignation against him, and partly of shame in myself for having so foolishly bent under the yoke of his oppression. When we went bathing, as we frequently did, out on the further shores of the bay, he would not scruple to lead us younger lads into the deepest waters, and, when we were far beyond our depth and almost exhausted, he would swim behind us and force us under, for the mere cruel pleasure, I believe, of seeing our struggles and hearing our cries below the surface. From some fancied sense of duty we allowed ourselves meekly to serve and obey him. When we went on a cliff-climbing expedition he would choose to remain in safety up above on the banks holding the rope, while it was we who were sent down the dangerous precipice to harry the sea-birds' nests. I had not yet forgiven Tom for what he had done a few days earlier than this spring morning. It happened this way: Four of us had a boat out on the bay, and we sailed about from point to point, fancying ourselves sailors voyaging on foreign seas. Our dinghy, we imagined, was a sailing vessel, and the broad bay of Stromness represented the Atlantic Ocean. The Outer Holm we called "America," Graemsay Island was "Africa," and the Ness Point was "Spain," while a small rock that stood far out in the bay was "St. Helena." Tom Kinlay was, by his own appointment, our skipper; Robbie Rosson and Willie Hercus were classed able seamen; and my dog, Selta, and I were called upon to do duty for both passengers and cargo, curiously enough, sailing with the ship on every voyage. We had touched at each of these places in turn, and when we were homeward bound I was landed at an imaginary port in "Spain." The boat had pushed off, when I called out to the skipper that I would walk home to Stromness if he would take the ship into port. I had returned home and was seated at dinner, when I thought of the dog and looked about for her. But she had not come back; so I went down to the jetty at the end of the Anchor Close, to see if I could discover the boat or any of the lads. Standing there I heard the dog's bark across the water, and what was my consternation to see my pet stranded like a castaway on "St. Helena"! She was tethered by a rope to the rock, and could not escape without help. The tide was rising, and the rock barely visible above the water. In a few minutes my dog would be drowned. No boat was near at hand, and there was nothing for it but that I should swim out to the rescue, so I had to strip there on the jetty and plunge in. The swim was a long one, and I reached the rock only just in time. The dog had been marooned on that little island, but Tom Kinlay had fastened up the boat and gone home, caring nothing, and neither of the other lads dared so far offend him as to attempt to rescue poor Selta without his permission. As I sat fishing on the pier, I was thinking of Kinlay's attitude towards me, and wondering if I should ever be able to hold my own against him in our outdoor intercourse as easily as I certainly could hold it in our class at school. But soon I was interrupted by feeling another twitch at my line. I hauled in another sillock; and having now completed my two dozen fish, I gathered them and my lines together, thrust my fishhooks into my trousers' pocket, and went off to school, only staying a few minutes on the way to give the fish to my sister Jessie, and get my slate and books in exchange. Chapter II. Andrew Drever's School Our schoolhouse was situated on the braeside above the main street of Stromness. It was a plain stone building with crow-step gables and a slated roof; and the only indication of its purpose was a large board over the door, upon which Andrew Drever had himself imprinted the word "SCHOOL" in bold black letters on a white ground. The morning's lessons were already well advanced, as I could hear by the hum of voices as I approached. Even Peter, the jackdaw, in his wicker cage at the open doorway, joined in the clatter of tongues. His quick eye noticed me hurrying to the school, and he sidled awkwardly along his perch, put out his long black beak through the bars of his cage, and flapped his wings with unmistakable signs of welcome. I was very late; so late that I half dreaded going into the school; and to discover if possible what humour the schoolmaster was in, I peeped through the half-open window. In the inner room I could see old Grace Drever seated with her gray cat beside the peat fire, busily twirling her spinning wheel. Nearer to me Mr. Drever himself sat at a high desk, at the side of which hung the inevitable "tawse;" and I did not fail to notice that this instrument of torture had already been used that morning, for it still swung with a gentle motion from side to side, like the pendulum of a lazy clock. Lest you should suppose that Andrew Drever was a severe taskmaster, however, let me here hasten to assure you that his nature was as sweet as summer. His methods of punishment and reward were the perfection of justice. In stature he was a small man, but his back was broad and strong, and his hands were firm and large. His long, straight hair was as black as the wing of his own jackdaw, and his cheeks, though thin, had a freshness of colour about them that was brought there by the bracing breezes of our native hills. The class was at the Latin exercises, for Latin formed part of our education, and I could hear Jessie Grey repeating a conjugation. I saw Tom Kinlay looking absently towards the window where I stood, and fearing that he would notice me, I moved a step nearer the door. Then I heard Mr. Drever speak. "Kinlay," said he, "finish the subjunctive mood, where Jessie Grey left off." Tom's trembling voice betrayed his ignorance of the-lesson. "Regor, I am ruled; regeris, thou--" "No, no," interrupted the master. "What are you thinking of, boy? That's the indicative mood. I asked for the subjunctive. Take your hands out of your pockets, sir, and don't stand there glowering at the whaling ships. They'll not be away till afternoon. Now, the subjunctive mood?" "I can't say it, sir. I could not get it into my head," whined Tom. "Can't! do you say? Can't! Was there ever such a word?--Here, you, Halcro Ericson, finish the--Now, where's that lad? Has he not come to the school yet?" "No, sir," replied two or three voices. Now that the schoolmaster's attention had been so drawn to my absence, I felt more than ever reluctant to enter. "Where is he? Does anyone know?" asked Mr. Drever. "Dinna ken, sir," was the weak response. Then Tom Kinlay, anxious, I suppose, to retrieve his lost ground, droned out: "He's away down at the shore side, sir. I saw him fishing." "Ah! s-sneak!" hissed one of the boys near him; "what for need you tell?" "Now, now!" said the master quietly. "None of that. Get along with the lesson." He glanced along the row of faces before him. "Thora Kinlay," he said, "finish the conjugation where Jessie Grey left off." I was again at the window. Mr. Drever looked towards a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl who stood directly opposite to him. At her throat there was a cowslip--a rare flower in Orkney. She wore a rough, homespun frock, as all the other girls did; but, for some reason which I cannot explain, Thora Kinlay was quite unlike her companions. Such was the refined gentleness of her nature that I can compare her only with the tern--the most beautiful, I believe, of all our sea birds. "Regerer, I might be ruled; regereris, thou mightst be ruled," she began, and as she repeated the conjugation, I listened with attention not unmixed with envy, for she was the best scholar in the whole school. As Thora concluded, the schoolmaster gave her a word of praise, and told her to go to the top of the class, while her brother, Tom, was ordered to the bottom. Andrew Drever had given these directions, and was leaning with his elbow on the desk, his chin resting on his hand, when his eye was attracted by my moving shadow at the doorway; and amid a sudden silence I entered and took my place at the bottom of the class. "Good morning, sir!" I said, looking fearlessly into Mr. Drever's kind face. "Good morning, Ericson!" said he. "You take your proper place, I notice. But what is the meaning of this lateness? What excuse have you this time?" "I was down at the shore side catching sillocks," I boldly answered, "and I just stopped to make up the even number." Robbie Rosson here put his hand to his mouth in the form of a speaking trumpet, and whispered: "How many did you catch, Hal?" "Just two dozen," I quietly replied, yet not so quietly but Mr. Drever heard me. "Yes, Ericson," said he sternly, "you stay to make up the number of your fish. But why do you not remember that you have a duty in making up the number of your class at school?" "I'm very sorry, sir," I said; "but I'll not do it again." "See that you do not. I will excuse you this time, but only because you were at the fishing." Then he added more kindly, "I have myself lost count of time in the same way. And now let me hear your Latin lesson." Fortunately I went through the lesson without mistake, and was rewarded by being told to go above Tom Kinlay. As I took my place, however, the next boy to me, Robbie Rosson, gave a great shout of pain, as though a pin had been stuck into him. "Hello, hello! What's wrong now?" exclaimed the schoolmaster. "It's nothing, sir," said Robbie, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Nothing! What for did you cry out like that, then?" "'Twas one of my fishhooks stuck in his leg, sir," I explained, extracting the offending hook from Rosson's trousers, and putting it back with others into my pocket. "Give me the hooks!" demanded Mr. Drever, holding out his hand to receive them. "I don't know what can possess you, bringing such things to school." Then before putting the hooks away in his desk, he examined them with a knowing eye, and I heard him murmur, "Dear me, dear me! You lads beat everything. I cannot think where ye get such good hooks from." The lesson was now changed. We all took our seats at the desks for arithmetic, and throughout the morning there were few interruptions further than the necessary disturbance caused by the changing of places as one or another of us was distinguished for reward. Chapter III. A Half Holiday. You will have gathered from Andrew Drever's remark about the fishhooks that he was something of a fisher. He was a fisher; but he was also a naturalist, and he varied the hard duties of the school by making frequent excursions across the hills in search of objects for his favourite study. In addition to the maps and diagrams that hung on the whitewashed walls of the schoolroom there were many cases containing stuffed birds, such as guillemots, terns, owls, and ouzels; and specimens of the small quadrupeds of the locality, including a weasel and a fine pair of otters. All of these specimens had been prepared and stuffed by himself, and upon a side table by the window he kept a collection of curious stones and old coins that he had found on his wanderings. Andrew's heart was in both of his occupations. He loved his birds and his curiosities, and I think he loved his pupils. Often, as he sat on his high stool behind his desk, with a severity in his features which his position seemed to demand, I have seen his brown eyes soften as they looked round the circle of faces, and I have known that he had some affection for each one of us. Out of school hours he took great interest in our pursuits, giving to the girls advice in the arrangement of colour in their needlework, and to the boys many a valuable hint for the hooking of trout. He knew no distinctions of rank or social position. A laird's son was treated by him with the same dignity or kindness that was shown to the son of a poor kelp burner; and the coveted seat at the head of the class was as often occupied by a poor fisherman's lad as by the better dressed, but not better educated, son of the Inspector of Fisheries, or the bright little daughter of so great a man as Lloyd's agent. Towards the close of morning school, Peter, the jackdaw, announced by the fluttering of his wings and his chattering that a stranger was coming to the door, and very soon Mr. Duke, one of the bailies of the town, entered the school. We had learnt to expect something good to come of the bailie's visits, and this occasion was no exception. He sat down on one of the low forms near Mr. Drever's desk, and took from his waistcoat pocket a large silver snuffbox. "Well, Andrew," he cheerily exclaimed, taking a copious pinch between his finger and thumb and handing the box to the master, "here's a glorious morning for you, eh? Ay, man, and how are all your bairns? I see ye aye keep up your number. And who have you at the head of the class the day? Is it Thora again?" "Yes," replied Andrew, giving a resounding sneeze and loudly blowing his nose. "Yes, its just Thora again. She's kept it all the morning. You see, sir, they all take the same places before the day's out: whatever way they begin, the smartest are sure to get to the top." "Ay, ay, just so," mused the bailie, again opening his snuffbox. "They're like a pack o' cards--shuffle them as ye will before the game begins, the honours must still come together at the finish. "Well, Thora, lassie," he continued, turning round to Thora Kinlay, "and how are ye all up at Crua Breck?" "Oh, we're all fine, thank you, sir," said the girl; "only Crumpie fell over the Neban bank yestreen and broke her leg." "Ah, indeed! but that's most serious; poor Crumpie!--and that's the new cow, is it? or is it the old horse?" "It's the old cow, sir," said Thora, apparently wondering at the bailie's ignorance. Then Mr. Duke thrust his hand deep into his pocket and brought it out again full of keys and money. He selected one of the coins and handed it to Thora, saying, "There's to you, Thora; that's for getting to the head of the class." From his seat he then questioned several of us regarding our lessons and our homes, and finally he stood up and addressed us all, saying: "I have come in this morning, bairns, to ask Mr. Drever to give you all a half holiday. The whaling ships are to sail by this afternoon's tide, and as many of you have brothers and fathers aboard, I don't doubt that Mr. Drever will let you away;" and he added, turning to the master, "What do you say, Andrew?" "I'm sure, sir," said Mr. Drever, "I have no objections to offer;" and he looked out through the window as though to satisfy himself that the weather was suitable for an afternoon's fishing. Mr. Duke then went into the inner room to have a gossip with old Grace Drever. The schoolmaster pronounced the benediction, and we flocked noisily outside. As I was leaving with Robbie Rosson, Mr. Drever called me back. "Don't leave the hooks here, Ericson," he said; "you'll be needing them for the fishing." And taking the fishhooks from his desk he again examined them attentively, admiring the fine workmanship displayed in the turn of their points. "My lad, these are fine hooks for a sea trout," he continued; "you'll have gotten them from Kirkwall, no doubt?" "No," I said. "Father got them from one of the captains. I'd like if you'd keep some of them, Mr. Drever;" and I offered him three of the best. "Oh no, no!" he exclaimed, "I could not think of taking them from you. I didn't mean that. "But maybe, well, maybe I might just have the loan of one of them to try this afternoon. I'm going away to Kirbister to see if I can catch a few sea trout." "Kirbister for sea trout!" said I, knowing that on the subject of fishing I might venture to disagree with even so practised an angler as Andrew Drever. "If you're seeking sea trout you need go no further than the Bush. There's not a stream in the Mainland equal to the Bush. Take the hooks, sir, and I'll warrant you'll bring home a full basket." "Well, I'll take your advice and try the Bush, for it's aye the lads that find out the best waters. Thank you for the hooks, Halcro. Away with you; and see you're not so late at the school another morning." And as I scampered down the brae, I knew that he was watching me from the door. In the street I found Tom Kinlay and two other boys waiting for me, and arranging an excursion across the hills to Skaill Bay to hunt for seals. It was an expedition in which I very readily agreed to join, and it was arranged that we should meet early in the afternoon on the moor between Voy and Crua Breck. Chapter IV. Sandy Ericson, Pilot. My home was close beside the school. There were only a few steps to skip across the narrow main street, and a turn into the Anchor Close brought me to my mother's door. Many of my companions, however, had several miles to travel. Tom and Thora Kinlay lived at Crua Breck farm, distant from Stromness four miles; and little Hilda Paterson, the youngest girl in the school, lived at her father's croft away beyond Stenness, and walked the five miles--barefooted--twice a day. When I got home the brose for dinner was cooling on the windowsill, and my mother was frying the fish I had caught in the morning. My sister Jessie sat near the window plaiting straw--an industry common in Orkney at that time. "Hello, Hal! back already?" Jessie exclaimed, putting her work aside as I threw my books and slate in the corner beside her. "Come away and look out for father. He has just brought in a new ship." We went out upon the little jetty where I had fished in the morning, at the extremity of the passage in which our house stood, and there we waited and watched for my father's boat. With this stone pier my earliest recollections were connected. When I was but an infant my father had carried me out in his great strong arms, and for the first time showed me the sun rising over the furrowed hills of Orphir. He had directed my childish eyes to the deep green of the sea water as it rippled gently against the wall of our house. It was here that, as a boy, I had, by rolling over the pier like a ball, made a more intimate acquaintance with the element that was to be as familiar to me as my native air. Here, too, I had caught my first fish, and hence despatched to unknown lands my little fleet of wooden boats with their quaint paper sails. The ship that my father had just brought into port was a trim barque, with high, tapering masts and a bright-green hull. "What's her name, Hal?" inquired Jessie as the vessel was brought to. I had accustomed myself to make out ships' names at great distances, and as the barque swung round with the stream I could read the words "Lydia of Leith" painted on her counter. "Yonder is father, and there is Uncle Mansie," said Jessie, as the two men climbed over the ship's rail and swarmed down into the boat. Then up went the brown sail, and the little Curlew sped blithely past the whaling ships and across the broad bay, and it was not long ere she was moored alongside our jetty and father stepped ashore. My father was a tall, muscular man, with a long, fair beard, and blue eyes as clear and deep as the summer sky. He was a worthy representative of the old Norse sea king, from whom he was descended, and his descent was shown in his great love of the sea. He was the chief pilot of the port of Stromness, and no man knew so well as he all the dangerous currents and shoals of the Orcadian seas. There was not a flow or a sound between the North and South Ronaldsays, or from Bore Head in the west to the Start in the east that he did not know as well as the eagle knows her corrie, or which he could not navigate on the darkest night. The perils of the whirlpools, of the sunken rocks, and of the wild winter storms which beat in fury upon our iron coasts, were part of his life; and I have heard it said that he had saved more ships from destruction than any other man in Orkney or Shetland. If you had asked anyone in Stromness, What man in all Pomona could least be spared? the reply would have been given, "Sandy Ericson, the pilot." I need not say that for these reasons I was proud of my brave father. But it was not from him I learned these things, for he would never say a word in his own praise, and, had I not heard of his hardy bravery from other lips, he might have been to me no more than the gentle, affectionate parent that he ever was. We left the four men who were the crew of the Curlew to look after the boat, while Uncle Mansie and father came into the house to dinner. When, being the youngest of the family, I had said grace and we were supping our brose, Uncle Mansie looked over to me and asked: "Well, Hal, are you coming out in the Curlew with us to see the whaling ships away?" I replied in true Orkney fashion by asking another question: "How far are you to take them?" Mansie turned to father, who said: "Och, we'll take them as far as the Braga Rock anyway. If you'll come wi' us, Hal, we'll stow you snugly in the bow o' the Curlew, and you'll get a fine sail. What's an Orkney lad, whatever, if he's not to have a taste o' the dangers o' the sea? There's more for him to do than daunder about the hillside with a trout wand over his shoulder." "'Deed, I dinna ken about that, father," said my mother, helping me to a plateful of fried sillocks. "If it's danger you're wantin' the laddie to seek, he's seen o'er many dangers already, I'm thinking. It's nearly drowned he was, only a week ago, in the Barra Flow, swimming out after a dog that wasna worth the saving; and I have seen him mysel' dangling over the Breckness cliffs, like a spider, at the end of a rope I would not have trusted to hang Lucky Drever's cat with! Danger, forsooth! the laddie is always in danger." It was like my mother to object to my taking to the sea, even for the pleasure of a sail. Although she well knew that it was the only life open to an Orkney lad, yet she was ever anxious to delay its beginning, and at these words from her my father did not urge me further, but quietly watched me as I rose from the table and took from a rack over the window a small harpoon, the sharp point of which I tested by pressing it against my thumb. "Oh, there's a lad!" exclaimed Jessie. "Off to the sealing when he might have a fine sail in the Curlew. I wish I could get such a chance." "All right, lad!" interrupted my father. "Away with you to the sealing. You'll get many another chance of a sail. Who's going with you?" "Robbie Rosson and Willie Hercus and--" I added with some hesitation, "Tom Kinlay," for I knew my father did not entirely approve of Tom as a companion. "Kinlay again?" he muttered, knitting his brows. "I would advise you not to go with that lad so often. But then you dinna ken what his father is, I suppose." It was seldom that I heard my father speak an ill word against any man. I did not ask him any question, but his brief warning was enough to show me that there was some serious cause of enmity between him and Tom's father, Carver Kinlay. "Father," I said, "I'll not go with Tom if you object." "Object!" said he. "What care I for the lad? It's the father that's my enemy. His bairns may be better than he. Away to the sealing with you, and may you get good sport!" And he followed me to the door. Chapter V. The Hen Harrier. I lingered about the little quay while my father and the crew were hoisting sail. For a moment I questioned if I should not be happier in the bow of the Curlew, than tramping half a score of miles over rough uninteresting moorland on the chance of capturing a seal; but in the end I was satisfied in keeping to the plan arranged by my companions. I waited only to see the boat bend over in the fresh breeze as she sailed outward to the ships; then, armed with my harpoon and a knobbed stick, I hastened out of Stromness, followed by my dog. Selta (so called after one of our native streams) was a long-bodied, long-haired animal, with a touch of the otter hound in her nature. I got her from Colin Lothian, an old "gaberlunzie" man who travelled our countryside. He gave me the dog when she was a young thing, and he had another of the same litter which followed him wherever he went about the island. Selta was notable for her shaggy brown coat and ungainly head, and for her keen scent. One day during the previous winter I had been over to Russadale for my mother, and in coming home I was caught in a snowstorm. The mist was thick and the way obscured by the driving snow, but Selta lowered her nose and led me over the hills in a beeline to Stromness. She had never before been out with me at the seal catching; but I took her this day, thinking she might prove useful--as indeed she did. The direct way to Skaill lay along an almost straight road to the northward, by Hamla Voe and the western shores of the loch of Stenness, past the Druid standing stones. On this May afternoon, as I walked along the familiar road, there was little to attract my attention. The gray stretch of water lay still and cold, and the ploughed fields beyond it were brown and barren. In a more southern clime every tree and bush would be, at that season, putting forth fresh verdure, and the budding hedgerows would be bursting into green beauty; but to me, at that period of my life, the sweet-smelling hawthorn, the golden-fingered laburnum, and the full, rich blossom of an apple orchard were unknown delights. I had never yet seen a real tree, and our highest bushes in Pomona reached scarcely to my shoulder. The land was all gray and barren. At the old mill of Cairston I was joined by Robbie Rosson, and, instead of continuing by the road, we cut across country, climbing the stone dykes and jumping over the gurgling streams. A walk of three miles brought us to Crua Breck, a small farmhouse on the hillside of the same name, overlooking the Pentland Firth. The ridge tiles of this house ran precisely north and south, and it was a superstition amongst us that this same ridge had the power of deciding whether the north wind should blow towards the German Ocean or the Atlantic; just as King Eric of Orkney could, in his time, change the direction of the winds by altering the position of his cap. Crua Breck was at least a mile from any other house--unless, indeed, the ruined and tenantless cottage of Inganess merited the name. Carver Kinlay had lived there as long as I could remember; but the fact that the fisher folks often spoke of him as a "ferry jumper" implied that he was still regarded as a foreigner on Orcadian soil. I had never been inside the Crua Breck house, nor, I may say, did I much covet a visit there, for the inmates of the farm were not distinguished for their friendliness or hospitality, and, with the one exception of Thora, whom I always regarded with a sense of kindliness, and Tom, who was my class fellow, I had little acquaintance with the family. Had I been more warmly inclined towards them I would have gone up to the door at once and asked for Tom, instead of sitting on the dyke side with Rosson and waiting till he chose to come out to us. As we sat there, however, Thora Kinlay came past us, driving before her a hen and her brood of chickens, which she had found straying along the cliffs, and of her we asked for Tom. She at once offered to run to the house and bring him, but ultimately Robbie Rosson went instead, with my terrier at his heels. "How is it you are not at the fishing, Halcro?" inquired Thora when we were alone. "I saw the schoolmaster away down at the Bush just now as I came past. He seemed to be catching very little, though." "Ah!" I said, "I doubt it's too clear a day for the trout. We're off to Skaill Vie to see if we can catch a seal." "That will be fine fun," said Thora, with a touch of envy in her voice. "I wish I was going with you. Will you not take me?" "Indeed," I returned, not unwilling that she should join us in our sport, "I'd be real glad if you would come. But here's Tom, we'll ask him." Robbie and Tom approached across a plot of potatoes. Tom was eating a huge piece of oatcake, and slashing, with a long stick he carried, at the heads of the thistles that grew, all too plentifully, among the potatoes. Tom was a tall, large-boned lad, and his feet, which were encased in rivlins, or rough hide shoes, projected several inches below his trousers; his arms, too, seemed to have grown far beyond the length of his jacket sleeves. His untidy black hair and dark eyes contrasted strangely with the fair and delicate beauty of his sister Thora. A stranger might have taken Thora to be of pure Norse family, and her adventurous spirit would have justified the belief. But Tom took after his father, whose type was that of a race not uncommon in the north of Scotland, and called--for I know not what reason--"The dark men of Connemara." "Tom," I asked when he was beside us, "what do you say to Thora coming with us to the sealing?" "What! Certainly not," replied Tom, who was ever jealous of his sister and loved not to favour her in any way. "What would a lassie do at the sealing? Let her go back home and do her lessons, and try if she can win to the head of the class again." "Indeed," said Thora with suppressed indignation, "it is you who should try to do that, Tom. You're the eldest and biggest lad in the school, and have never yet been at the head of the class, dunce that you are! But away with you to the sealing. I do not care, for I have adventure of my own. I know where there's a hen harrier building her nest on the Black Craigs, and it's not you I will tell where it is, my lad." This was a successful parting shot from Thora. She well knew that any lad in Orkney would envy her the discovery of a falcon's nest, and that Tom, more than any other, would be jealous of her finding what he might have searched for in vain. "Just fancy that lass finding a harrier's nest!" he murmured as we went along. "I wonder if it's true! I bet she only said that out of spite because we would not let her come with us. But who wants a slip of a girl at such work? She'd only frighten the seals and prevent us from catching any. It's my opinion we have enough of the girls in the school without them joining us in our sports. What do you say, Ericson?" "I don't know about that," I said. "For my part I shouldn't have objected to Thora coming with us. As for the hen harrier, I don't doubt that what she said was quite true. It's well known that she's one of the best cliff climbers of us all." "Tut! you always side with the lassies, Ericson. That's because you're aye beside them at the head of the class. What was it that old Duke gave her this morning? Was it a bawbee?" "I took no notice of what it was, Tom," I replied. "But it was very kind of him to give her anything." "It was a sixpence he gave her," said Robbie Rosson. "I saw the colour of it." "A sixpence!" exclaimed Tom. "The sneak that she is! Let's go back and make her give us a share of it." "Get away, man," said Robbie. "What is it to us though the bailie gave her a dozen sixpences? He'd have given it to any of us if we'd been at the head of the class." The discussion upon Thora ended here, and we continued our walk in comparative silence. Willie Hercus was waiting for us when we reached the hill of Yeskenaby. Hercus was a barefooted, red-haired boy, with gray eyes that were almost hidden in the fatness of his cheeks, and totally so when he laughed, as he invariably did on the least provocation. His brow and nose were covered with brown freckles, like a turkey's egg; and he wore a large sea jacket that had belonged to his father, one of the crew of the Curlew. We walked leisurely along the brink of the Black Craigs--a line of steep cliffs bordering the western portion of the Mainland. At times a hoodie crow would fly across our path, or the red grouse be startled from their nests in the freshly-budding heather; and sea fowl in large numbers sailed gracefully over our heads or deep down the cliffs, making the chasms echo with their ceaseless screaming. We made no attempt to kill or capture any of the birds. One bird, however, we did take, and that more by accident than intention. It happened this way: My dog was trotting before us, with her nose to the ground, when suddenly she made a run through the short heather after a lapwing, which was, or pretended to be, unable to fly. I think it was trying to decoy the dog away from its nest. As we watched the chase, Tom cried out: "Look, look, there's a hawk after them!" And, indeed, so it was. The lapwing ran with wondrous speed, and before Selta had time to snap at it a hawk had nipped in before the dog's nose in the attempt to rob her of her prey. Unfortunately for the larger bird, however, the dog's snap, intended for the fugitive, came upon the hawk's outstretched neck. The lapwing escaped unhurt, and flew screaming into the air, but Selta held to the hawk till we ran up and helped her. I managed to secure the bird's wings, which flapped about with surprising strength, while Tom held its struggling legs. "Thraw its neck, thraw its neck!" cried Rosson, now coming up to us. Selta loosened her hold, and Willie Hercus took the hawk's head in his hand, carefully guarding against its sharp beak, gave its neck a rapid twist, and the bird was dead. "What kind of a bird is it?" eagerly asked Kinlay, whose knowledge of our native birds was as imperfect as his knowledge of Latin conjugations. "Can you not see it's a harrier--a hen harrier?" I said, as I stretched out the large and beautiful wings of gray-blue feathers and proceeded to bind the bird's feet with a string. "The very same that Thora spoke of, I'll be bound!" Tom exclaimed with satisfaction, as he evidently thought of his sister's secret of the nest on the Black Craigs. "What'll we do with it?" asked Hercus. "Is it good for eating?" "Nonsense, Willie!" said I. "Surely we've birds in plenty without eating hawks! Let's give it to the dominie." "Ay, let's give it to the dominie," chimed in Robbie Rosson, always ready to agree with whatever I proposed. "The dominie! What for would you give it to the dominie?" objected Kinlay. "It's my bird. I first saw it." "Your bird! your bird, indeed!" exclaimed Hercus, putting his hands in his pockets and assuming an attitude of indignant surprise. "Is it the man who first sees the whale that has the blubber? No, no, Ericson's dog caught the bird. Let Hal do as he likes with his own." I have no doubt that Tom coveted the dead falcon in order to persuade his sister that he had discovered her harrier's nest. When we agreed to keep the bird for the schoolmaster, he accordingly grew gloomy, and the rest of the journey to Skaill was accomplished without his joining in the merry talk, of which there was no lack, you may be sure. Chapter VI. "Better Gear Than Rats." Skaill Vic is a large, sheltered inlet of the sea. I have heard that in ancient times it was a meeting place of the Norse vikings, and it is just such a place as a pirate might choose to make his headquarters, being a convenient station from which he could ravage the adjacent shores of Scotland, or sail over to Norway, or even north to Iceland, and safely return to its secluded shelter, to store his treasure in the dark caverns of the rugged cliffs. I may here remind you that Pomona Island was, long ago, the holy land of the Northman, and that the cairns and cromlechs scattered over our hills and plains are to this day associated with the visits of the old viking buccaneers. Andrew Drever, who was exceedingly well versed in the antique lore of the Orkneys, once told us in school of a Runic inscription he had seen in the Maes Howe at Stenness. It was interpreted to the effect that one of the old vikings "had found much fee in Orkhow," and that this treasure had been buried "to the northwest." "Happy is he," the legend continued--"Happy is he who may discover this great wealth." But, of course, no person had ever found trace of it, and Mr. Drever supposed that it must have been swept away by the furious storms that, in wintertime, dash continually against the rocky ribs of the Orcadian coasts. We got down by a pathway to the sloping beach, which the tide had left bare. At the point where we hoped to find some seals, we observed several men and women gathering seaweed, preparatory to burning it for kelp. This was a disappointment to us, since, if there were any seals about, it was likely they would be scared away by the kelp burners. But we walked along under the high banks as far as the northern extremity of the bay, in expectation of finding some sport on the outer shores. We sat for a long while talking, as schoolboys will talk, in a sheltered cleft of the headland, which, I believe, had once been a cavern, and was known by the name of the Kierfiold Helyer. Here the force of many an Atlantic storm had so worn away the face of the rocks that the cliff was driven back to the innermost parts of the original cave. Great pieces of granite lay about in disorder, showing where the roof of the cavern had fallen in; and on one of these boulders we sat until we were weary, looking out to the water's edge, in expectation of seeing some seals appear. Skaill Bay was our favourite spot for the sealing, and at the proper season the seals were generally plentiful and not timid. Indeed, so bold were they sometimes, that on a Sabbath morning, when the bell of Sandwick Church, hard by, had been ringing for divine service, I have seen the animals collect in numbers on the beach to listen to the strange sound, which held them so fixed and charmed, that it required an effort to startle them away. Now, however, the seals seemed to have deserted the place, and I was not sorry when Tom Kinlay proposed that we should give up our search for them and return home. Just as we were moving away I chanced to look along the shoreline, and at some distance from where we stood I detected a moving object in the water, and presently saw what I took to be three seals basking on a bank of sand. Now was our weariness changed to eager desire, and we at once prepared for some good sport. Leaving our dead falcon on a slab of rock, we quietly distributed ourselves. Willie Hercus approached the seals under cover of a large boulder. I crept along by the foot of the cliffs with Selta, intending to get down to the water's edge, and so work back again to cut off the retreat of the seals; while Kinlay and Rosson did the same on the other side. We gradually and silently closed round our game. Our approach was, however, somewhat marred by an alarm given by a seagull flying over the seals. The largest animal turned round towards the sea. Its mates took the signal and, with it, made for the water. I gave a word to the dog, and Selta ran forward to meet the middle seal, which she kept at bay as she might have kept a sheep, barking in its face and always getting between it and the water. Tom and Robbie ran after one of the others, while the largest seal, which I had marked as my own prize, managed to escape me and plunge into the sea. I then turned to encounter the seal that the dog and Willie Hercus had arrested. Willie, having no stick or harpoon, was throwing large stones at the animal, which seemed to pay little attention to them, but kept its large, beautiful eyes fixed upon the dog. One of the stones, unfortunately, struck Selta, and when she turned, the seal made its way past. I saw the movement and succeeded in striking the seal on the nose with my knobbed stick. The animal collapsed at once; its head dropped on the sand, and it moved no more. Meanwhile Robbie and Tom, who had my harpoon, were having a hard fight. Their seal had been struck once with the harpoon on the left shoulder. Tom tried to intercept its retreat, and just as it was entering the water he fell down upon it with all his weight, at the same time grasping its wounded flipper in his two hands. The seal, though weak, drew him some way over the slippery stones and into the sea; but Tom proved victor. Rising on his knees in the water, he wrapped both his arms round the seal, and, with the assistance of Rosson, succeeded in carrying it ashore, where it was finally killed. We had heavy work conveying our two seals up the beach to the place where we had left our dead bird; and there with our knives we proceeded to secure the skins and the blubber, leaving the carcasses behind for the cormorants and carrion crows. Willie Hercus and I were finished first, and we carefully folded up our perfect sealskin. But Tom, who was less accustomed to the work, fumbled away awkwardly, muttering to himself when his sharp blade cut into the skin instead of neatly parting it from the body. As we sat on a rock waiting for our companions, Selta went sniffing about on her own account and rooting into the far corners of the old cave. She at length found her way to the dead hen harrier, as it lay on a slab of flagstone. Hercus called her off as she put her nose too closely to the bird. But Selta was following her instincts; for, in turning the bird with her nose, she disturbed a small rat which was coolly making its meal there. I ran to examine the damage done to the hawk (for I was anxious to give the bird uninjured to Mr. Drever), while Willie followed the dog into the crevice where she had chased the rat. I found the harrier was not much damaged; a few feathers were bitten out and a little of the skin was broken, that was all. I put my harpoon and stick through the string that secured the bird's legs and slung it over my shoulder, gathered up our sealskin, and went to hurry up Tom and Robbie, for the tide was rising and we had a long journey before us. Tom had just cut the last of the skin from the seal's head, and when he had folded it up, the three of us began our walk towards the further shore of the bay, expecting Hercus to follow with the dog. "Hello! what can be keeping Hercus so long?" asked Robbie, when we had walked some distance. I told him about the rat that the dog was after, and looked back for Willie. Not seeing him, we concluded he had gone round by the top of the cliffs, and we continued our way a few yards further. Then we heard Hercus calling after us in an excited way. "Come back, lads, come back!" he shouted; and I looked at the sea line, fearing lest it was the rising tide that Hercus was warning us against. "I'm not going back," objected Tom. "We've got time to get to the other side long before the water's up. Besides, I'm hungry. I'm going home." "Tut, didn't we wait for you while you skinned your seal? Let's go back," I urged. "Maybe Hercus is hurt." "Come away back, Tom," added Rosson. So we all returned to where Willie Hercus still remained, and wondered what he could mean by calling us back. When we entered the chasm we were much surprised to find Hercus lying flat on the shingle, with his right arm deep in a hole he had dug, and the dog at his side, wagging her tail and uttering short barks of excitement. "Good sakes!" exclaimed Robbie Rosson. "What's wrong with the lad?" Much relieved we were to hear Hercus speak. I confess I had felt certain some harm had happened to him. "Come away," he said, in a tone which was far from being a cry of pain. "Come away, lads, and give us a hand here. There's better gear than rats in this hole, I'm thinking." And, so saying, he rose to his knees and held out to us a heavy and black piece of metal, which at first I took to be an iron bolt. "Well, what is it?" I asked, taking the thing in my hand and examining it. "What is it?" said Hercus. "Can you not see, lad? Why, it's silver!" Chapter VII. What The Shingle Revealed. Now the explanation of Willie's curious discovery, as we afterwards fully learned, was this: When I took up the dead falcon, Hercus, intent upon witnessing Selta's skill at ratting, stood beside the dog as she scraped with her forefeet the shingle from the crevice through which the rat had escaped. Disappointed at losing her prize, the terrier dug and dug away at the shingle and moist sand, scattering it behind her, and burying her nose deep down. Then a strange, grim object was unearthed. In the midst of the stones, Hercus, to his horror, saw lying there a ghastly human skull, with the great cavities where the eyes had been, staring at him. Hesitating at the sight of this frightful spectacle, he at last mustered courage to take the thing in his hand. He was in the act of examining it, when, from one of the hollow eye sockets, out jumped the fugitive rat. Had the jaws of the skull moved in speech, Willie could not have been more terrified than he was by seeing the rat spring from its strange hiding place. Dropping the horrible thing upon the rock at his feet, where the rotten bone broke into fragments, he rushed out upon the beach and called us back. Attracted to the spot again, he watched the dog burrowing in the shingle. Amongst the stones and sand he saw the dull sheen of what he at first supposed was a curious seashell, but which, when he picked up and examined it, he found to be an old coin. Believing that there might be more of these buried in the sand, he went down upon his knees once more to search. He had just discovered the bar of metal when we returned. "What is it?" he said. "Why, it's silver?" We each in turn handled the little bar, and expressed our opinion regarding what Hercus supposed it to be. It was heavy enough, certainly, to be silver; but the improbability of such a piece of the precious metal being left there presented itself, and none of us was quite satisfied until Hercus, taking out his knife, cut and scraped the surface of the ingot and revealed the shining white metal underlying the grit and tarnish that had gathered upon it during the years--perhaps the centuries--it had lain there undisturbed. By our united efforts we enlarged the hole that Willie and the dog had made, digging with the harpoon and removing with our hands the loosened stones. We found a quantity of antique coins of various sizes, which, by reason of their lightness, I suppose, were much scattered about. Then deeper down below these we came upon a number of large rings, or bracelets, in the form of horseshoes, and several ingots of silver, similar to the one Hercus had first found. We grew excited in our search; and as the quantity of treasure we unearthed increased, so did we increase our exertions, until there was quite a heap of silver gathered upon the slab of flagstone where we placed it. At a spot near where Hercus had discovered the skull we found a curious garment, formed of a fine network of rings and chains. It was much broken and torn--though the shoulder bands were preserved, as well as the collar--and we could see that the owner, whoever he might have been, must have had a large and strong body, for the coat was of great weight. Beside it there were what we took to be the remains of a helmet, the ornaments upon which were of a yellow and still untarnished metal, with a large crimson stone set in the front. Hercus pronounced the metal to be brass; but I never discovered truly what it was, as I did not handle the fragments again, for the reason that (as I happened to notice at the time) Tom Kinlay, who kept silence regarding them, quietly put them in his pocket, allowing us afterwards to suppose that we had left them behind us. I had my suspicions, however, that the ornaments were of pure gold. In addition to the coat of mail and the helmet, there were three other objects that engaged our special regard. These were a broken belt--made of link rings of bronze--the head of a battle axe, and a long sword. The sword, which was in a scabbard embossed with fine ornaments, had a richly-figured handle. It was a heavy weapon, and none of us could draw it from its scabbard, for the rust that encrusted it. When all that it seemed possible to find had been collected, and our digging brought nothing more to light, we opened our two seals' skins--throwing away the blubber, which seemed of little worth to us now that we had possessed ourselves of all this wealth--and lifting the treasure into them we made them into slings, one of which was carried by Tom Kinlay and Willie Hercus, the other by Robbie Rosson and myself. We bore our burdens joyfully as far as the other side of Skaill Bay, just managing to escape the tide that was creeping up to the base of the cliffs. The last rays of the sun were setting across the broad Atlantic when we reached the top of the headland, and in the gray twilight spreading over the sea we watched the fleet of whaling ships sailing to the westward. Chapter VIII. Dividing The Spoil. Resting after the work of carrying our burden up the cliffs, we stood for a space upon the heights above Row Head to watch the sails of the fleet growing smaller as they approached the distant line of the horizon. The leaden sea danced in the fresh breeze, and the sky gradually lost its golden tints and assumed the clear, cold hue of the northern twilight. To the southward, across the moor, rose the dark mountains of Hoy Island, with the moon gleaming pale above them. From the shore came the fresh smell of the seaweed and the plaintive crying of the gulls. The evening was growing late, and there were still half a dozen miles of rough moorland between Ramna and Stromness. Over the braes of Borwick we travelled at a steady pace. We were light of heart, for we had had a successful expedition, as was proved not only by our dead falcon and the two seals' skins, but, more than all, by the great wealth that those seals' skins carried. Many were our conjectures as to the meaning of that great horde of silver we had discovered hidden in the sands of Skaill Bay. "I wonder how it all came there!" mused Robbie, and then he added, "D'ye ken what I think, lads?" "What think you, then, Robbie?" I asked. "Well," said he, "I just think it must have been cast there by some shipwreck in the olden time. D'ye mind, Hal, of the story of the wreck of yon Spanish ship on the Carrig-na-Spana?" "What! the San Miguel?" "Ay, maybe that was her name, I dinna ken. Well, if you mind, she struck on the reef there, and the skipper dropped all his treasure chests overboard, in mortal fear that the Orkney wreckers would rob him of them. I suppose he took his bearings, but for many a day the wreckers searched the waters, and never a thing did they find. Well, years and years after that the old skipper's son came to Orkney, and went straight to the spot where the treasure had been sunk and carried it all off to Spain." "But that explains nothing, Robbie," I argued. "However, we ken well enough that those Spanish ships were aye loaded with gold and precious stones. And then, d'ye not mind of hearing about the Spanish Armada ships that were wrecked on the Orkneys? Now, I wouldn't be surprised though the gear we have gotten was nothing else than the wreckage of an Armada ship. Even the skull that Willie found, maybe belonged to one of the soldier chaps that came to fight the English. But what is your opinion, Willie? You should know, for it was you who found the treasure." "Well, Ericson," said he wisely, "I just think it was most extraordinary to see the heaps of siller come out of the very sands of the seashore, and in such a desolate place; and beyond that, it was a most providential thing that the dog ran after yon wee rat. What most gets over me, though, is to think of the rat making its nest in the dead man's skull. Man! what a fright I had when the beast jumped out! As for how the siller came there, I canna just say; but, you mind, the dominie told us in the school that, lang syne, some of those viking lads used to cruise hereabout. Now, I'm thinking that it's just possible one of them had maybe left the siller for safety in the Kierfiold Cave where I--where we found it, and clean forgotten to go back for it; just as old Betsy Matthew forgot the guineas she hid under the floor in the heel of a stocking." "Ay, I dinna doubt it may be so, Willie," observed Rosson. "But then, what about the dead man's head?" "'Deed I canna say what way that could be there. I'm thinking we must e'en refer it to the dominie. He kens all about these things," said Hercus; and then he turned to Kinlay, who hitherto had expressed no conjecture. "But what think you of it all, Tom?" "What do I think!" said Kinlay in a tone of indifference. "I care not what way the silver came there. What does it matter? I'm only thinking what I'll do with my own share of it." Now I confess that I had not before thought anything at all about what we should do with the silver. I was so much interested in the circumstance of our curious discovery of the hidden treasure that the thought of its market value, or of our means of disposing of it, had never entered my head; and I believe Hercus and Rosson were totally ignorant of the fact that our find was really worth more than the mere interest we naturally attached to the articles as curious antiquities. Had I been asked as to the disposal of them, I believe I would have proposed that the whole treasure should be handed over to the care of our schoolmaster, who would doubtless see that we did not lose by any sale he might effect. Tom Kinlay was the first to suggest the sharing of the silver pieces. We could offer no reasonable objection to a plan which seemed so fair to all of us, and we agreed that before we parted an equal division should be made. Walking along a stretch of bleak moorland bordering the sea, taking always the nearest cuts across the jutting points of rocky headland, we at length approached the quaint graveyard of Bigging. The night was clear, and light almost as day; but Robbie and Willie would, I believe, rather have gone many miles out of our direct way than go near that awesome place. The ruined chapel and the long, flat tombstones surrounding it, seemed to have an eerie influence upon our imagination, and we could but whistle some merry tune to keep up our hearts. Willie Hercus, though naturally daring, was now especially timid, the remembrance of that skull he had handled having taken such hold of his mind that the simple mention of it by one of us was enough to make his voice sink to a trembling whisper, as though he feared the dead man might come to life again and appear in our midst to accuse us of having disturbed his bones. I think Tom Kinlay was the only one of us who did not look with superstitious awe into the dark shadows that hung about those ruined walls and silent tombstones; but he was so tall and strong that nothing seemed to daunt him, and soon he made a proposal that went far towards assuring me that he was absolutely fearless. "Now, lads," said he, when we were passing the low wall of the burying ground, "let us get in here and spread out our things on one of those flat stones, and then we can share them out. Come along; nobody can disturb us in that quiet burying ground." "What!" exclaimed Robbie, betraying his terror at the proposal. "Over there among the graves! Not I. I'm not going into such a place after the sun has gone down. Why, we canna be sure that the ghosts of the dead will not spring out upon us!" "No, I'm not going in there either," chimed in Hercus. "We can divide the siller here on the moor just as well as in that fearsome place. Come back, Hal, dinna you gang either." "Well, well, what a pack of frightened bairns ye are!" said Kinlay, preparing to enter by the open gate. "Come along. What on earth can ye be feared at?" Thus taunted for want of courage, Willie and Robbie overcame their superstitious scruples, and we all four made our way in among the graves. We spread our treasures upon the top of a flat tombstone that was somewhat higher than its neighbours and formed a convenient table for our purpose. The stone was overgrown with lichens and moss, and skirted by a growth of nettles and thistles. As we stood around it in the twilight, surrounded by a wild solitude, we might have been mistaken for a company of pirates dividing their ill-gotten gains. Whilst Kinlay and Hercus were opening out the two seals' skins my eyes idly wandered over the surface of the tombstone, and were arrested by the inscription carved thereon. There was an epitaph in some foreign language, old and worn, but under this was a name that seemed to be newly cut. It was the name "Thora Quendale." Now the name Thora is not a common one in Orkney, and seeing it on that strange old tombstone naturally made me think of the Thora whom I knew--Tom Kinlay's sister. "Tom, did you ever notice the name on this grave? It's some woman buried here named Thora." He turned and read the inscription. "Ay, I've seen it before. It's some woman that was found drowned at the foot of the Black Craigs, years ago. I dinna ken who she was. I think she was in a shipwreck." "Oh! Then it was no relation of yours?" "No. That is, I dinna think it. But I have heard that Thora was named after her." I asked him to tell me about the wreck; but just then Willie Hercus interrupted, saying: "Come along, Ericson; you had better be the one to divide the treasure for us. We all ken you'll divide it fairly." The treasure was heaped upon the tombstone, and as I regarded it I foresaw the difficulty of the task before me; for the pieces were obviously of very varied values, and I did not see how I could easily distribute them into four equal shares. But I made the attempt according to the manner that I had seen adopted by the fishermen at Stromness in dividing their fish. To begin with, there was the sword--apparently the most valuable of all the treasures. Who was to have this? I naturally thought it should go to Hercus, to whom we owed our possession of the wealth, and I remembered that Kinlay already had an equivalent share in the pieces of broken helmet he had appropriated. I handed the sword over to Hercus, therefore. Tom offered no opposition at the time, but he afterwards bartered with Hercus for it, giving him in exchange two of the ingots of silver and the coat of mail which subsequently fell to his share. The sword and the coat of mail being apportioned to Hercus and Kinlay, I then gave the bronze belt to Rosson, and took for myself some pieces of armour and a fragment of a shield. Then there were twenty-two ingots, or bars of silver, each of about six ounces in weight. Five of these were apportioned to each of us, two being left to be dealt with afterwards. Next, there were thirteen brooches, such as the Scandinavians--as I learned later on--were accustomed to use for binding their mantles. They were all of similar pattern, and would weigh, perhaps, three ounces each. Of them we had three apiece. There were three massive torques, or rings, something in the form of horseshoes, the opening being left to admit of their being fastened upon the neck, where the ornaments were worn, I believe, by the ancients as symbols of rank or command. These articles were composed of a series of rings interlaced, some of them being embossed with rude but curious designs. I saw that we could not each of us have one of these, and here I was again in a difficulty; but since the ingots of silver were of about an equal weight, I took one of them myself and gave an ornament to each of my companions. Hercus, however, would not agree to this, and he showed, truly enough, that the ingots were worth no more than their weight in metal; whereas the rings were of much greater value, on account of being curious specimens of ancient art. He therefore asked me to take a few of the coins in order to make a fair division. The remaining coins, of which there was a considerable quantity, were then counted and equally shared amongst us. We had now left one ingot of silver, one brooch, some odd fragments of silver, and a small black stone which had a metal ring round it; and the sharing of these cost more trouble than all the other articles together. They were all, so far as we could judge, of unequal values. The stone was considered worthless, except for the little band of metal with which it was clasped. The brooch was only about half the weight of the ingot, and it was not counted precious, because already each of us had three like it, while the small pile of silver fragments was not worth half the ingot {i}. I thought I was acting very fairly when I suggested that Hercus should have what remained, because, I said, if it had not been for him we would have had nothing at all. "'Deed you'll do nothing of the kind," objected Kinlay. "What for should Hercus take all?" "Well, well," I said, somewhat ruffled, I admit, at Tom's greed, "you needn't be so sulky. Take you and divide the things. You'll not do it any fairer." But Tom saw a way of sharing the things which suited himself, if it did not quite agree with my own views of fairness. To Willie he gave the brooch, to Robbie he passed the pile of fragments; and now he held the two remaining pieces, the ingot of silver and the little black stone. We awaited with much interest his final decision. With an unpleasant flash of his dark eyes he cast the stone to my end of the rude table, and quietly thrust the bar of silver with his other possessions into his capacious pockets. I tried hard to check the words that rose to my lips. Throughout the afternoon I had noticed Tom's pointed objections to many things I had done or had proposed to do. He had objected to Thora accompanying us on the sealing expedition. He had disagreed with the disposal of the dead hen harrier; other little incidents, most of which had testified to his deep-rooted selfishness, I had not failed to notice. More than all, I remembered how he had pocketed the jewelled fragments of the helmet, and kept the knowledge of their value from us all. As for the opinions of the other two lads regarding him, it was Willie Hercus who had called him a "sneak" in school that morning, and Robbie Rosson, I knew, had certainly no love for Tom, who had persistently bullied him. "Well, are you not satisfied?" said Kinlay, seeing my undisguised indignation. "Yes, with my own share," I replied. "But if you'd taken the smaller piece of siller for yourself, and given Willie Hercus yon piece you've taken, I'd have thought you more honourable." And then I roundly accused him of having stolen the fragments of the helmet. "You have stolen the things," I said. "You saw that they were of more worth than the rest, and you were afraid that we would want a share of them." "You're a liar!" he exclaimed angrily. "And you're a thief!" I retorted; and I walked round to him, determined, if necessary, to defend my accusation in a more practical way than by empty words. Now, I am confident that Kinlay was almost eager for such a chance as this to pay back many debts which his own jealousy had from time to time conjured up against me. For, apart from the fact that I happened to be a little more brilliant than he in our class at school, there were not wanting indications that he was in other ways losing ground in our common race, and circumstances seemed to require that we should each make a final effort now for the upper hand. Seeing my determined attitude, he regarded it as a challenge, and at once took off his jacket and held it out for Robbie Rosson to take charge of. Robbie promptly showed the tenor of his feelings by allowing the jacket to fall upon one of the gravestones, and by coming to my side. Hercus merely busied himself in pacifying my dog, which had become restless on hearing our high words. Kinlay and I now stood face to face, and I almost trembled to think of the thrashing that was probably in store for me. He gave the first blow, which struck me soundly on the side of the head and knocked my cap off. I buttoned my jacket tight and closed with my adversary, yet with small success. The fight was for a few moments unequal. Tom was much the taller, and his big feet, with their hide sandals, seemed to grip the elastic turf. His fists, too, were large and hard, and his lunging strokes were enough to stagger one of our native ponies. Against this superiority I had to depend upon such power of limb and endurance as I had acquired by long practice at cliff climbing and in swimming the strong currents of Scapa Flow. For a time a heavy blow on my chest disabled me, and my right arm was sorely bruised by the many blows it had suffered in guarding my face. Still, I was determined not to give in; and, just as one gets a second wind in swimming, so did I now feel a new and strange strength come upon me. I continued the conflict with renewed energy. Stepping backward upon one of the flat tombstones, I once more stood ready to receive my opponent. He struck without effect at my face, and while he was recovering his balance I saw my opportunity, and hit him a strong blow between the eyes. He staggered and fell, and I saw that the fight was over. Rising to his feet he did not retaliate, but picked up his jacket, wrapped his store of the treasure into his seal's skin, and wiping the dripping blood from his nose, walked away across the heath in the direction of Crua Breck, muttering a vow of vengeance. The combat had been sharp and effectual; but it was the outburst of an antagonism which had long been gathering strength; it was the practical declaration of an enmity that grew and lasted for many a day. Chapter IX. Captain Gordon. I was oppressed with a weight of weariness by the time that I came within sight of Stromness. After leaving Hercus and Rosson over at Yeskenaby, I met not a person until I reached the shores of Hamla Voe. Here, however, on turning from the moorland path into the main road, I saw a stranger resting upon the low wall at the roadside. He was evidently admiring the scene presented by the quiet bay of Stromness. A barque lay at anchor in the harbour, her tall, tapering masts and taut ropes clearly defined against the gray sky. Beyond the bright beacon light of the Ness, the sloping island of Graemsay could barely be distinguished from the deep purple mountains of Hoy, and along the line of the bay stood the gabled houses of the town, their dimly-lighted windows reflected on the water. As I approached the stranger, I saw that he was a seafarer. "Fine night, sir," I said in salutation as I passed him. "Ay, very fine. What way is the wind, my lad?" "Sou'-sou'-west," I replied, looking up at a few flecks of white cloud in the clear sky. "Are you going on to Stromness? If so, I will walk along with you. That's a fine bird you're carrying. What do you call it?" "A hen harrier, sir. My dog caught it over on the moor. Is that your barque lying in the bay, sir, the Lydia?" "Ay; she's a rakish craft, isn't she? We're sailing again in the morning for South America. Do you think we shall have a fair wind, my lad?" "Yes, if it does not veer round too much to the westward." "You appear to have studied the weather," he said. "Yes," I answered. "In Stromness we all notice the wind, and father has taught me to know all the signs of the weather." "Then your father is a fisherman, I suppose?" he remarked, as he turned to walk down the brae with me. "Father's a pilot," I said. "I'm Sandy Ericson's lad." "Ericson! Ah! I know Ericson. He's a splendid fellow, a regular Norseman, in fact." And then he proceeded to praise my father as I had so often before heard him praised, and with all of which I did not venture to disagree. He spoke with me until we reached the entrance to the town, where I noticed Andrew Drever, my schoolmaster, walking in advance of us, carrying his rod under his arm and a string of fish in his hand. "Good evening, sir!" I said, as we overtook him. "Hello, Halcro, my lad!" he exclaimed, as cheerily as though he had not seen me for weeks. "Good evening!" said my sailor companion to the dominie. "I see you have some fine trout there." "Yes," said Andrew, when he had returned the greeting. "They're not so bad, and I've had some fine sport with them. Are you coming from Kirkwall?" "No," replied the sailor. "I was just up the hill there for a saunter in the gloaming. The gloaming lasts very long here, I notice. What time is it dark in midsummer?" "In midsummer?" replied Andrew. "Well, it's seldom darker than this; and on the twenty-first of June you can see the sun even at midnight from the top of the Ward Hill yonder. You'll belong to one of the ships here, no doubt, sir?" "Yes, that barque out there with the tall masts." "Ay, she came in today. That will be the Lydia, I'm thinking, and you will be Captain Gordon? Bailie Duke was telling me you were in the port. And when do you sail?" "Tomorrow," said the captain. "We're bound for Brazil; but I was wanting to see some people tonight. Pilot Ericson asked me to smoke a pipe with him. Then I have to see Grace Drever, to--" "Grace Drever!" exclaimed the dominie, evidently wondering what the sailor could want to see his mother for. "Yes," continued Captain Gordon. "My ship's overrun with mice, and I was directed to Grace Drever, who, I am told, deals in all the charms and cantrips a sailor can require." "Charms and cantrips!" echoed the schoolmaster. "Why, who on earth has been putting such notions into your head? I doubt if you go to Grace Drever on such an errand you'll be disappointed, sir." "You know the old lady, then?" said the captain. "Just as well as a man can know his own mother," replied Andrew. "Oh! then, you'll be the schoolmaster? Really, I beg your pardon; but I was told that Mistress Drever had dealings with such things; and although I am not exactly superstitious--" "Never mind, sir, never mind. It's just some ignorant lads have been making up the story; and it's all one to me, for I know well it's not true. There was once a woman in Stromness, I will allow, who used to sell favourable winds to the sailors. But though there is still a most lamentable amount of superstition in the Orkney folk--belief in witches and warlocks and such nonsense--it's gradually, just gradually, dying away." "No doubt the influence of your schools," observed the captain, anxious to conciliate. "Ay, no doubt," said Andrew. "But what was it you were saying about mice?" "Why, we're just infested with them, and I must get either cats or poison for them, or I'll not say but we may be manned by mice instead of men before we get beyond Cape Wrath." "My mother has a cat," quietly remarked Andrew, "one of the few we have in Orkney. And though she does not deal in witchery, you might bring her to part with Baudrons. Now, if you'll come home with me and have a taste of these trout--" "Oh, thanks, thanks, most happy!" said the captain. Now this, I thought, was a very graceful invitation for Andrew Drever to give to a stranger who had only a few moments before implied that his mother was a witch. But it was a kindness such as he was ever showing; and I must add that Captain Gordon was one of those easy-mannered sailors who at once give an agreeable impression. I myself liked him from the very first, and I had afterwards many reasons for rejoicing in the friendship thus casually made. "I have something here for you, sir," I said to the schoolmaster, holding up the dead falcon that I carried. "Oh! come along with us, too, Halcro. Send your dog home, and come and take some supper with me." I assented, and continued walking by his side as he talked with the captain. We had now entered the street of Stromness. It was a narrow passage which one might span with arms outstretched, and paved without a causeway--for it was built when there were no vehicles in Orkney--and crooked as the inside of a whelk shell, suggesting starlight smuggling and romantic meetings. In the windows and obscure corners of the passages dim lamps peeped forth in the darkness, and the flickering firelight in the houses fell upon the stones through the open doorways, whereat sailors stood smoking their pipes and gossiping women talked. We turned up a little lane that led to the schoolhouse, and my dog trotted home without me, to let my mother know I was near. Chapter X. The Dominie Explains. We found Grace Drever preparing the peat fire for frying the fish. The good old woman did not hear us enter, but Andrew was a punctual man, and it was with no show of surprise that his mother at length recognized his presence. Grace Drever was an active woman, somewhat bent with age, but with no signs of decaying faculties, save in the case of her extreme deafness. Her hair was still black, and her eyesight was quick. Her memory for local events was as good as an almanac to the people of Stromness, and there was something strangely uncanny about her nature that was itself almost an excuse to those who hinted that she had dealings with the underworld. She was one of the older style of inhabitants, who retained the primitive habits and customs of the island, whose spoken language had in it a mixture of the Norse, which distinguished it from the simpler Scotch dialect familiarly used by us of the younger generation, and yet more from the purer English into which we were drilled at school. Andrew Drever generally spoke good English in the presence of strangers, though he lapsed into the broad native speech in friendly talk with the fisher folk. "I hae brought Captain Gordon wi' me to hae a taste o' the trout," he said to his mother as we entered the room, where she bent over the fire. "Gordon! Gordon! I dinna ken ony Gordon. What's the name o' his ship?" "He belongs to the Lydia, the barque that cam' in this forenoon." "Aw, yes, I ken his ship, but I dinna ken the captain. Yes, yes, he'll get a taste o' the troot, I warrant him that." Then turning to Mr. Gordon, she continued: "Ye were never in Stromness afore, captain? No? Ye maun speak loud--it's terrible dull o' hearing I am." The captain looked at Grace as she applied a strange, shell-like horn to her right ear, and went closer to him. "The Lydia has a great many mice on board," said the captain. "Ay, you'll be takin' it out to America for the black folk, no doubt. It's terrible hot in America, they say. But where got you the ice? Not from Leith?" "He didna say ice," interposed Andrew. "The captain says his ship's full o' mice." "Ah, mice! What for does he not get a cat?" "It's your own cat he was wanting to get," said Andrew. "My cat! my Baudrons! Troth, I dinna think I could part with Baudrons. I'm terrible fond of Baudrons. Was there not a cat in Stromness forbye mine?" Grace said this as she selected some of the largest trout and took them away to clean. As I sat on a chair near the door, weary after my long tramp with the heavy burden of silver and the dead hawk, and somewhat bruised by my fight, Mr. Drever and the captain engaged in a long conversation relating to the Orkneys. But during an interval of their talk I ventured to draw the schoolmaster's attention to the dead bird that I had brought for him. "We caught this bird over on the moor the day, sir," I said, "and I brought it, thinking ye'd like to put it in one o' your glass cases." "Man, Halcro, but that's a bonny specimen! A harrier, a hen harrier, I declare! 'Deed but it will be a right fine addition to our collection. And what way did ye kill it, d'ye say? Not wi' a gun, surely?" "No; it was flying after a peewit, and the dog caught it. Willie Hercus thrawed its neck." "Well, well, that's most amazing. How I wish I'd been with you. I'd rather hae caught a harrier than a hundred sea trout." "Did ye get some good fishing at the Bush, sir?" I asked, changing the subject. "Oh, ay, very good, very good; thanks to those hooks o' yours, Halcro. I left a dozen trout wi' Jack Paterson's wife, and a dozen wi' Mary Firth, and these I brought home. That's no sae bad, is it?" Then, when he had satisfied his admiration of the dead hawk, he took us into the schoolroom, to show the captain his cases of stuffed birds and animals. Already he had determined that he would mount the hawk in the attitude of swooping down upon a lapwing. It turned out that Captain Gordon was interested in birds, and knew a good deal about their habits. I remember he told us of a swallow which had once flown on board his ship when they were over a thousand miles from any land, and of how the bird, exhausted by its long flight, allowed him to hold it in his hand and feed it with small insects taken from the decayed timbers of the ship. When we were seated at the table over our meal of fried trout, I had to relate my experiences of the afternoon, which I did from beginning to end, omitting only the circumstance of my fight with Kinlay. I did not wish to say anything against a schoolmate, and an account of the fight would have involved unpleasant explanations. The two men listened with attention to my account of the sealing; but they were incredulous when I told them about finding the hidden silver. When the table was cleared, however, and I spread out the contents of the seal's skin, Grace and they gathered round in astonishment and eagerly examined the curiosities by the light of the hanging lamp and the flaming peats. Captain Gordon weighed the bars of silver in an imaginary balance in his hand, and gave his opinion as to their weight. The neck rings and brooches also engaged his attention; but Andrew Drever found greater interest in the ancient coins, which he carefully examined, endeavouring to decipher the rough inscriptions upon them. Most of the coins were foreign, but there were two which he recognized as English--a Peter's penny of the tenth century, and an older coin, which he told me was nearly a thousand years old, bearing the name Aethelstan Rex. I cannot describe his delight in looking over these little pieces of silver, or his satisfaction when I offered to let him take charge of them until we determined what should be done with the collection. When the interest in my treasures had somewhat abated, Mr. Drever and the captain exchanged conjectures concerning the probable origin of what we had discovered at Skaill Bay. They could come to no issue by all their arguments, until I chanced to mention once more the incident of the rat and its curious hiding place in the skull. "A skull! a human skull!" exclaimed the dominie. "Why, that explains it all. I can see it now. I can see it clearly!" "See what clearly?" inquired the captain. "This," said Andrew with a tone of conviction, "that what the lads have discovered is nothing less than the grave of Kierfiold Haffling, the great viking of Orkney." Then turning to the captain he continued: "You see, Captain Gordon, it was the custom of the old sea kings to bury their dead heroes in caves on the seashore, or to place the body in a boat and send it drifting to sea on its long voyage. In either case it was usual to dress the hero in full battle array, with helmet, sword, and shield, to enable him to fight his way to Valhalla. These relics here of Ericson's, and those that the other lads have gotten, are just such things as would be buried in a viking's grave. The human skull in their midst puts the matter beyond a doubt." "Curious, very curious!" murmured Captain Gordon. "But, sir, how do you identify this supposed grave with that of the particular warrior you have mentioned?" "Kierfiold Haffling? Oh, well, you see, captain, I may be making a mistake; but, as it happens, I have seen a runic inscription over at Stenness which expressly states that the Jarl Haffling was buried with his earthly treasures to the northwest of the Maes Howe. Now, the Bay of Skaill, where the lads made the discovery, is exactly northwest of Stenness. The one thing that surprises me is that the treasure was not found long since, for the inscription has clearly indicated its position, and has further stated that 'happy is he who discovers this great wealth.' It seems to me, however, that no person ever thought of searching within the tide line." "But, after all," said the captain, "the wealth does not seem so enormous. Why, I would hesitate to offer a ten-pound note for the whole lot." "No, it is not indeed enormous, in a worldly sense, I admit. But you must consider the importance of the discovery from what I may call an archaeological point of view. You see the relics have a historical value, Mr. Gordon." The schoolmaster then turned to me and said: "I think, Halcro, it's a pity that you lads didn't keep these things all together, and bring them here as ye found them. What for did ye divide them, as though they were so many blackberries? Ye couldn't do anything with them--ye can't sell the things." "It was Tom Kinlay said he thought we should share them, sir. I didn't think we were doing wrong." "Tom Kinlay kens nothing about such matters, Halcro. Just you get the three other lads to bring each his share to me. I will look after it and see that ye dinna lose anything. You see, although ye found the treasure, you lads, it doesn't rightly belong to you. No doubt ye'll be rewarded in some way for your find; but I must tell you that the law will not let you keep it to yoursels. A person finding treasure of this sort can have only a third part of its value. Is that not so, Mr. Gordon?" "Yes," said the captain, "I fancy you're right, Mr. Drever. Of course you refer to the law of treasure trove?" "Exactly," agreed the master. Then turning to me, he continued: "You see, Halcro, the Crown will claim a share of it, and the laird gets another part. So ye'd better let the other lads ken about this. Let them understand that they are breaking the law if they keep their discovery a secret." "Yes, sir, I'll tell Rosson and Hercus before school time in the morning." "And Kinlay?" said Mr. Drever, looking questioningly in my face. "Maybe you'd better speak to him yoursel, sir," I returned, almost afraid to say that my companionship with Tom was at an end. "Hello! what's in the wind in that quarter? A quarrel, eh? I have noticed that scratch on your cheek. Has that anything to do with Kinlay?" I put my hand to my cheek and found that there was blood there. I had received a scratch that I was before unconscious of. "Well, sir," I said, "Kinlay and I did have a bit of a fight over at Bigging. There was a dispute over the sharing of the treasure." And then I thought of the small black stone that Tom had given me as an equivalent of the bar of silver he had appropriated for himself. It was not amongst the articles I had shown to the schoolmaster and the captain. I thought that I had perhaps left it lying on the gravestone; but searching my pockets, I at last found it in one of them, where I had carelessly thrust it when the fight began. I placed it on the table before Captain Gordon, who examined it curiously. "What d'you make of this, sir?" asked he, turning to the dominie. "The stone, if it is a stone at all, looks worthless; and yet I see this ring round it is the only piece of metal that is neither silver nor bronze, but gold." "Gold!" I exclaimed, bending over to look at it. "Yes, gold undoubtedly," said the captain. Grace Drever, who had said little during the examination of the store of silver coins and ingots beyond asking questions as to the manner of our finding it, and giving utterance to such ejaculations as "Losh me!" and "Saw ever onybody the likes o' that?" now took the black stone in her hand, and having pondered over it for a while, said, holding up her finger to me: "Laddie, take care of this peerie {ii} thing. It will be of more worth to thee than all the other gear together." I did not quite understand. The gold ring, I thought, could not surely be worth more than that heap of silver. And yet Grace was so serious in what she said that I could scarcely doubt her word. I was about to ask her for an explanation when we were interrupted by the lifting of the latch of the door, and a rush of cold air made the lamp light flicker. Chapter XI. My Sister Jessie. We all turned to the door to see the cause of this interruption. It was my sister Jessie who entered, and paused on the threshold as she observed the presence of a stranger. She wore no covering on her head, and her brown hair fell in natural curls on her shoulders and about her neck. Captain Gordon rose politely and stood with his hands clasping the back of his chair. Jessie raised her large dark eyes towards him for a moment and looked confused. I think this was the first time in my life that I felt conscious that my sister was more beautiful than any other Orkney girl I knew, with the one exception of Thora Kinlay. She was at that time nineteen years of age; she was tall and graceful, and very easy in her movements. It is true she had no accomplishments, such as those of Bailie Duke's daughters; but her education in Mr. Drever's school had been sound, and she could keep house as well as any fisherman's wife in Orkney, and row a boat as well as any lad. "Was it Halcro ye were seeking, Jessie?" asked old Grace, as though my sister's presence there was a matter of as little concern to her as the presence of the old German clock in the corner of the room. "Yea," said Jessie. "His dog came home without him, and we were feared he had gone ower the cliffs, or that some other mischance had happened him. "Where have ye been, Halcro, so late as ye are? You should have been in your bed lang syne." As I went to the nail for my cap, the dominie introduced Captain Gordon to Jessie. She greeted the sailor without ceremony--for in Orkney we are not demonstrative in this particular. But the officer held out his hand, and she took it with evident confusion. I think she could not have failed to notice the difference between this handsome young man and the gray-haired, toddy-drinking captains who usually came into Stromness and hung about our home in the Anchor Close. Captain Gordon did not sit down again. Perhaps the mention of the name Ericson reminded him of his appointment with my father. But he had not yet effected his purpose of securing Grace Drever's cat, and he turned to the old woman, asking her again if she would part with Baudrons. Grace, I do not doubt, had been impressed by the open-hearted bearing of the captain, and I had noticed his kindly way of addressing her, so that she might hear him without effort. But she looked fondly at her cat as he sat before the crimson fire, licking his lips after the fish bones he had eaten. Few mice or rats came in his way, but--luck for Baudrons--there was an abundance of fish, and the wild birds that Andrew brought home supplied him with many a stolen banquet. There was one ruling passion in Baudrons, and that was his desire to gain possession of the noisy jackdaw which so often disturbed him with its steady shining eyes as they looked down at him from behind the wicker bars of the cage. I believe Baudrons anticipated the death of Peter as the crowning achievement of his life; and had he been consulted in the matter of the Lydia he might have shown some reluctance to enter the community of mice before he had compassed the jackdaw's death. Grace was finally prevailed upon--much to the satisfaction of the dominie--to give up her cat; and it was arranged that I should take Baudrons out to the ship before school time on the following morning. I was preparing to leave with Jessie and Captain Gordon, when Mrs. Drever called me to her near the fire. "Come here, Halcro, laddie. Tak the peerie stone, see, and have a care that ye dinna lose it;" and she handed to me the little black stone. Mr. Drever was standing beside her, and I looked to him to ask if I should take possession of this much of the viking's treasure. "Take it, take it, Halcro," he said. "There can be no harm in your keeping it--at least until we find whether the authorities claim it or not. I canna think that there would be any money value in it to speak of. But you'd better be careful not to lose it at any rate." "But the thing is of no use to me, sir, is it?" I asked. "That's for you to find out, Halcro," said he. "You see it is a sort of charm, or amulet. The old Scandinavian vikings used to carry such things about with them, in the belief that by so doing they would be protected from all personal harm. Our Jarl Haffling, I suppose, wore this same amulet at his neck to ensure his safety through the perils of the battle and the storm. No doubt he believed that the possession of such a talisman gave him a charmed existence. The sea could not drown him, sword could not wound him, fortune favoured him, so long as he wore this little stone on his breast." "And yet, sir, the Jarl Haffling came to his grave in the Bay of Skaill," I said incredulously. "Ay, lad, so he did, so he did. But we must suppose that Odin, the god of the Norsemen, had thought it time to reward him by calling him off from his earthly battles to the Halls of Valhalla." Captain Gordon here approached us, and whilst he and Mr. Drever were bidding each other goodnight, I stood looking into the fire, meditating upon the strange thing my schoolmaster had told me. I put the little stone securely into my breast pocket, feeling the new responsibility I bore in being guarded by such a mysterious influence; for I did not doubt that the protection given by my talisman to the dead viking would now be extended to myself. Grace Drever had some instructions to give me regarding the taking away of her cat, and when I left her my sister Jessie and Captain Gordon were already walking together down the brae. I soon overtook them. Jessie was questioning the captain about his ship. "Father was saying she's a very good ship," said she; "but I think mysel' that her masts are ower high; and if ye were taken in one o' the spring gales off the Orkneys you'd find that they are, Mr. Gordon." "Did the pilot say that our masts are too high, Miss Ericson?" asked the captain. "Nay, I was thinkin' it mysel'," said Jessie, "when I saw the barque lying near the Holms. High masts are good, I will allow, for carrying a heap o' sails, but our whaling ships never have masts so high as yours." "Well, but you must understand," urged the sailor, "that we are not bound for Davis Straits as your whalers are that went out today. In the tropical seas, where there is often a calm lasting several days, we need high masts and widespread sails, Miss Ericson." "Yes, I ken that well enough," argued Jessie. "But I have seen many a good ship wrecked on the Black Craigs in the spring time, and I can aye tell when a ship will come back safe to Stromness." Captain Gordon seemed to treat my sister's criticism of his ship very lightly; but as events turned out, her warning was perhaps justifiable. When we turned into the Anchor Close, we found my father standing at the house door, smoking his pipe and looking out for us. "Where has the lad been?" he asked of Jessie before he greeted the captain. "I found him up at the dominie's," she explained. And then she held out her hand to Mr. Gordon. "Fare ye well, Captain Gordon!" she said; "fare ye well, and a good voyage to you!" And she glided past him into the house. "Was the lass speakin' wi' you, skipper?" asked my father. "Yes," said Gordon. "She was telling me that my barque's masts are too high." "Ay! but it's no' sae often that she'll speak wi' a man. She's a blate lass wi' maist folk. But what kens she about a vessel's masts, I wonder?" My father, with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, then stepped down to the jetty and looked through the darkness towards the Lydia. "Ay, but I'm no that sure about it either, Skipper. The masts are higher than ordinary. But ye'll come ben the house and smoke a pipe, maybe?" "Thank you, pilot, I don't mind--just for a half hour before I go out to the ship." My father thereupon led the way within, and placed an easy chair for Mr. Gordon under the large hurricane lamp that hung from the low ceiling, and cast its yellow light about the room. The skipper glanced rapidly at the dark, old-fashioned furniture, at the high-backed chairs, cushioned with the skins of seals, the strong teak-wood sideboard, and the heavy round table, upon which stood a quaint Dutch spirit bottle and a couple of horn drinking cups. He looked at the several pictures of ships battling with terrible storms, and at the pensive porcupine in its dusty glass case, and then at the array of firearms and harpoons above the door of the press bed. My dog Selta lay sound asleep upon a large polar-bear skin before the fire. Had he approached her and looked up the wide chimney he might have seen there the remains of our winter stock of smoked geese and hams hanging in the midst of the "reek." "I suppose you have been sailing foreign a good deal in your time, pilot?" said Mr. Gordon, when he was seated. He had got this notion, no doubt, from having observed the many foreign ornaments and weapons about the room. "No," said my father, "I hae never been abroad. All my life has been spent in the Mainland." "You mean Scotland--the mainland of Scotland?" said the captain, not seeming to understand the meaning of the "Mainland," which I may here explain is our local name for Pomona island--the largest of the Orkneys. "No, I didna mean Scotland, skipper--though, to be sure, I hae been over there many a time. We call this the Mainland, where we are just now. Many folks make the same mistake about that. I mind of a skipper named Jock Abernethy. Jock had a brig o' his ain, though he kent naething aboot navigation, whatever. Weel, a lang while past it is noo, he was takin' his brig frae Portree, in Skye, across to the West Indies. His crew was nae better nor himsel'. Weel, when they had been at sea twa or three months, Jock cam on deck ae mornin', and, 'Donald,' says he to his mate, 'd'ye not see land yonder to starboard?' "'Ay, sir,' says Donald; 'I'm just thinkin' it will be the West Indies.' "'You're right there, Donald, the West Indies it is,' says Jock. 'See, yonder's the black folk sittin' waitin' for us!' and he pointed to the cormorants perched on the rocks. "So the brig was hauled round, and when she was near inshore a pilot boat cam oot to them. Jock hailed the pilot: 'What land is that?' he cried. "'It's the Mainland!' sings out the pilot. "'What! the mainland o' America?' asks Jock, thinkin' he had missed the Indies. "'No, ye duffer, the Mainland o' Orkney, to be sure,' says the pilot. 'What other Mainland is there?'" As I sat on my low stool by the fire, my mother and Jessie being in the inner room, I took the viking's charm from my pocket and examined it. Captain Gordon had lighted his pipe, and when my father's anecdote was finished he said: "Now, Halcro, my lad, lay aft here and let us have another look at that magic stone of yours." And then, as I handed it to him, he proceeded to tell my father of our discovery of the treasure. The two men discussed the probable value of what we had found, and I felt some disappointment in their estimate of what the dominie might be able to sell the relics for. "It is very good to find these things," said my father, blowing a mist of tobacco smoke from amidst his beard. "But what use are they, whatever? Nae use ava! The dominie might send them to the museum folk at Edinburgh, and he would get mebbe a pickle pounds for them--hardly enough for the lads to buy an auld boat wi'. I wouldna be bothered wi' the things." "What was it the old woman was saying about this stone, though, Halcro?" asked the captain. I repeated what Grace Drever told me--how the stone might protect me from accident and from the monsters of the sea; from the kraken and the kelpie, the warlocks and the wirracows; and how, having the charm at my neck, I need never fear climbing a cliff or entering upon the most dangerous adventure. "And do you believe all this, my lad?" asked Captain Gordon, taking his pipe from his lips and addressing me. "Well," I returned, with an earnestness that must have shown that I had not the smallest doubt upon the matter, "auld Grace Drever said it was 'as true as death,' and the dominie did not deny that it was 'just possible.' What for should I not believe it? and what for would the stone be bound with the gold ring and buried with the other gear if it were not of some value beyond ordinary?" "Och! but I dinna doot there will be something in the stone," said my father, who, at the mention of the dominie's belief, cast away all questioning. "And it will not be the first time I have heard of such cantrips." And he told us of a man named Willie Reoch, a fisherman, who was preserved from the great Bore of Papa Westray in some such way. Willie Reoch and three other fishers were away at the saith fishing, and when their boat was driven by the wind near to the Bore, they were drawn under by the whirling current and swamped. Reoch had round his neck a charm which Bessie Millie, the witch, had given to him, and so was the only one saved. "Na, na," continued my father, "I dinna doot there will be something wondersome in the stone; and if any person would have such a thing, who would it be but the Norseman?" Thus did I become convinced in my mind that, by the possession of that little gold-encircled stone, I bore a charmed life. That night I lay with my precious talisman under my pillow. I thought of the events of the afternoon, and, remembering my fight with Tom Kinlay, attributed my victory over him to the influence which that talisman, then in my pocket, had already begun to work. I tried to imagine what kind of adventures had befallen the old viking whose bones we had disturbed, and wondered if I should ever encounter any similar perils. My opportunities of adventure were fewer than his could have been; but I determined to give my full trust to the mysterious aid in which Jarl Haffling had trusted in the ancient days. Then I heard my father unmooring the boat from the pier to take Captain Gordon out to his ship, and as the sound of the oars in the rowlocks died away in the night I fell asleep. Chapter XII. A Tragedy And A Transportation. I was up and about on the following morning when the town was yet asleep. A cool, dewy mist hung in the air, and the rising sun spread a rosy bloom on the eastern sky. When I arrived at Andrew Drever's house there was no one moving within, but the door was not locked, and quietly lifting the latch I went inside to find the cat Baudrons, that I might take him out to the Lydia according to my promise. I made so little noise that even the jackdaw did not seem to notice my entrance, and I looked to his cage on the side table. To my surprise the cage door was standing wide open and Peter was not there. But presently, from the school room, I heard him chattering and croaking. Following the sound of his voice I discovered the bird perched high upon the dominie's desk looking down at Baudrons, who crouched below him on the floor in the very act of preparing to spring, his checks swelled out and his great tail lashing the dusty floor. The door creaked as I opened it, and before I could interfere the cat was upon the desk with Peter struggling in his claws. Peter left a few black feathers in Baudron's possession, and escaping, flew over to the table by the window, where he hopped about with the greatest coolness, muttering, "William the Conqueror, ten sixty-six"--words which he had gathered from our history lessons in the school. Baudrons was after him in a moment. And now followed a terrible encounter. Instead of flying away the bird deliberately met the cat and stabbed at him valiantly with his long, heavy beak. They fell over on the floor together, and as they struggled, amid much noise of growling and chattering and flapping of wings, I flung my cap at them, trying to effect a separation. Alas! before I could help the dominie's pet, the cat had the uppermost of him, and ran off into the schoolmaster's private room with the jackdaw held firmly in his teeth. I followed, and tried to make the animal loosen his grip of poor Peter. He growled and spat as I approached him, and, fearing for the jackdaw's life, I hammered with my fist upon the door of the schoolmaster's press bed and called out: "Mr. Drever! Mr. Drever!" The dominie opened the bed door and sprang out to the rescue, his red woollen nightcap upon his head. But his help was of little use. We managed to get the cat away from his prey; but the bird was fatally injured, blood was dripping from his neck as the good man took him up in his hands caressingly. "Poor Peter, poor Peter!" said he; "who has done this thing?" "William the Conqueror," faintly uttered the bird. Then giving a few feeble croaks, he died in the schoolmaster's hands. Andrew Drever's tender emotion grew into anger as he thought of the murderer of his pet jackdaw, and he paced the room vowing vengeance against his mother's cat, which had now escaped into comparative security on the top of the kitchen cupboard. "Come down here, ye wretch!" he exclaimed, taking up a knife from the table and holding it up threateningly. "Come down here, ye foul fiend. How dare ye touch a feather o' my Peter's wing?" "Dinna kill the cat, sir," I interposed, reminding him that I was there to take the animal aboard the Lydia. "Man, Halcro," said Andrew, sobering down, "I wish you had taken him away yestreen. But come, let us catch the brute and away with him, for he shall not bide in this house another hour." While Mr. Drever got an empty meal bag and held it open, I took a long broom handle, and, standing on a chair, forced the cat to come down. We chased the animal about the room until we cornered him, when, putting the meal bag over his head, we made him a secure prisoner. Tying up the bag with a string, and cutting some breathing holes, I carried the captive cat away, leaving Andrew Drever to grieve over the death of Peter the jackdaw. When I rowed out to the Lydia in my little boat, the mist had melted away in the warmth of the sun. The gray town, with its blue film of peat smoke slowly rising into the clear air, was reflected upon the smooth water that lapped and lisped against the stone piers. The bubbling track of my boat as she plunged and curtsied in obedience to the oar strokes alone disturbed the calm surface of the bay; but beyond the shelter of the harbour a brisk breeze fluttered the Blue Peter at the barque's foremast, and I did not fail to notice that it came from a favourable quarter. Father was already aboard when my boat scraped gently along the ship's side, and he threw a rope end down to me to climb up by. Captain Gordon shook hands with me when I reached the quarterdeck. "Well, my lad," said he, "how d'ye think the Lydia looks for sea?" "She looks well and trim," I said, untying the mouth of the meal bag; "but I notice she has a slight list to the port side." "A list to port!" said he looking forward. "Ha! that's unlucky. I wish it had been to starboard; but as it's not much, the men may not notice it. I fancy they'll see more of ill luck in this cat." When I opened the bag, Baudrons escaped with a good dusting of flour on his fur. The cat looked wildly uneasy; he showed no signs of that gentle docility which Grace Drever admired in him; but with his cheeks puffed out and the loose skin about his nose and head drawn up in uncanny wrinkles, he dashed across the deck once or twice, lashing his tail from side to side like a savage brute, and then, approaching the main hatchway, he made a great spring down the hold, there to enjoy himself amongst the mice. Chapter XIII. In Which I Receive A Present. While all was busy on deck, Captain Gordon took my father and me below to his cabin. It was a neatly fitted-up room with many books and pictures and maritime instruments that interested me. What most attracted my attention was the captain's private collection of fishing tackle and his armoury. There were some fine landing nets and rods with bright brass rings and reels, and the artificial flies were quite confusing in their number and variety. In the armoury were several six shooters of different patterns, and many double-barrelled guns and ornamented rifles. Captain Gordon allowed me to handle some of these, and he explained their mechanism to me. One little fowling piece that I examined was so light and so beautifully made that I returned to it again and again while the captain and my father were talking together. It had a long steel barrel with delicate engraving upon it, and a carved stock. I was admiring the spring of the trigger work when Captain Gordon asked me if I was a good shot. "I have never fired a gun in my life," I said. To my surprise he said, "You may have that gun in your hand if you'll accept it." "O, but I canna think of taking it from you, captain!" I replied. "No, no, he'll shoot himself," objected my father; "and that will not be so good as if he fell ower the cliffs. What will the lad want wi' a gun?" "But I'd like to give it him, pilot. He'll soon learn how to use it properly. "Won't you, Halcro? "And as for shooting himself, why, remember the magic stone, pilot." Father muttered something to the effect that it was very good of the captain; and I, who was overwhelmed with gratitude for his kindness, feebly added my thanks. So Captain Gordon gave me the fowling piece, together with a canister of gunpowder, and sufficient swan shot, I thought, to kill all the wild fowl in Orkney. As I was leaving the ship, joyous in the possession of these ample materials for a whole summer of sport, and was bidding farewell to Captain Gordon, the mate came towards us at the rail and touched his hat. "Well, Marshall, d'you want anything sent ashore?" asked the skipper. "Yes, sir," said Marshall, "I want to tell you that the men are grumbling about this cat being brought aboard. You know how superstitious they are. They want the lad to take it away with him again." "Their objections are silly and childish, Marshall," said Mr. Gordon. "They know that the ship is overrun with mice." "Yes, yes, sir; that's all very well. But they won't have the cat aboard; and I think you'd better have the beast sent off." "The men are a pack of fools. What harm can the poor cat do them, I'd like to know? They think it's unlucky, I suppose. Well, if they will have it so, send a couple of them down the hold to capture the animal. We must just bear the mice if the cat cannot remain. Look smart, now, the boy's in a hurry to get to his school." Two men were then sent below to search for Baudrons, and I waited for their return. In about a quarter of an hour one of them came to say that the cat could not be found. "Very well, then, I can't keep the lad here any longer. We must send the cat ashore with the pilot." Then the captain turned to me. "Goodbye, Halcro, my lad!" he said; "perhaps we'll be back in Orkney on our homeward voyage. Maybe you'll be a pilot yourself by that time, and bring us into port. Goodbye!" "Goodbye, Captain Gordon!" I murmured; and at that I slipped over the taffrail and was soon sitting in my boat again, rowing back to the town. Chapter XIV. Thora. On my way to the school that morning I chanced to meet Hercus and Rosson coming down one of the side alleys. "I say, lads," I began, "d'ye ken what Dominie Drever says about the siller things we found at Skaill?" "No! what is it, Hal?" asked Hercus. "Why, he says that it was an old sea king's grave that we discovered--one of those viking lads that we read about in the history book." "You don't say so!" exclaimed Rosson. "Yes, and he says that we must take all the siller to him at the school. There's some law about it all, and we canna keep the things. We maun give them up." "Will ye give your share up, Hal?" asked Hercus. "I hae done so already," I said. "I left it wi' the dominie yestreen." The lads looked at each other, but neither offered any objection. "Oh, very well!" said Rosson, "I'll bring mine down i' the mornin'." "And I mine," echoed Hercus. During the first lesson in school it was noticed that Tom Kinlay was absent. "Where is your brother this morning, Thora?" asked Mr. Drever. "Please, sir," said Thora, "I was to tell you that he's not to come to the school again. They're buildin' a new boat for father at Kirkwall, an' Tom's to be aboard of her." I thought it curious that Carver Kinlay should have a boat built in Kirkwall, and not by our own local builder, Tammy Lang, of Stromness. And what could this new boat be intended for? "Ay, Thora, but that's somewhat sudden!" said the dominie. "Why did he not wait till the end o' the week?" Thora raised her blue eyes in my direction as though she would appeal to me for an explanation. I did not then know, however, that the true and immediate cause of Tom's absence was that he was not in a fit condition to appear among his companions that morning on account of the blow I had given him during our fight on the previous evening. After school time Thora came to me and told me of her brother's return from the sealing expedition; of how he rushed into the house with his nose bleeding. And she explained that, as they sat at their porridge in the morning, she had noticed the purple patches under his eyes and the swelling of the bridge of his nose. I own that I felt extremely sorry for having inflicted these injuries upon Tom, nor could I wholly hide from Thora the actual cause of them. But when Mr. Drever asked about him Thora knew as little of that cause as I did of the effect of my blow upon Tom's nose. Notwithstanding the many little quarrels between her brother and herself, Thora was too generous to be glad at his misfortune; but I fancied there was a glance of satisfaction in her eyes when I said to her: "It was a fight that we had, Thora. Tom and I quarrelled over some old siller things we found across at Skaill when we were at the sealing." "And which of ye beat the other, Halcro?" she asked, with almost a boy's interest in a stand-up fight. "But I needna ask that, surely; for I can see fine that Tom had the worst of it. If it werena for that wee scratch on your cheek I wouldn't hae kenned ye had been in a fight; but as for Tom, why, he's just a perfect sight to look upon!" I need hardly say that my quarrel with Kinlay did in no wise alter the friendship that existed between Thora and me. I had for her a fondness which Tom's bullying and tyranny had no power to diminish. Thora, indeed, was a girl whom none except those who were influenced by envy could help admiring. She was the favourite of all the school, and amongst us, her only enemy was her brother. My own sympathy with her was all the greater because I knew that she was so much the subject of his rule. I knew how he had forced her to obey him, and to bend before all his humours and his whims, and I was sorry for, whilst I was still unable to help her. In this servitude we had been companions, in common with Rosson and Hercus; and many a time had she come to me, with tears in her eyes, to tell me of some new act of tyranny that she had suffered at her brother's hands. On one such occasion I found her down at the shore side with little Hilda Paterson. She had been going out on the bay to paddle about in a small boat that Tom was in the habit of using. He saw the two girls taking the oars, and straightway he ordered them ashore, striking Thora on the cheek, himself taking possession of the boat. The two girls were standing in their disappointment on the beach when I came up and heard their story. "Never mind, Thora," I said. "Come along wi' me. I'll get my father's dinghy, and we three will go for a fine sail." I rowed them out beyond the Holms, for it was a bright calm day; and when we got out into the breezy bay the mast was stepped, the little lug sail hoisted, and then we went speeding over to Graemsay island like a sheer water skimming the waves. Graemsay was our imagined El Dorado, and on the voyage we fancied ourselves encountering many surprising adventures. Shipwrecks and sea fights were by no means uncommon events. We threw spars of wood over the stern, and at the cry of "Man overboard!" the ship was put about to pick him up. But while we easily overcame these imagined disasters, there were some real dangers to encounter, and in the midst of our merry talk and laughter we had ever to keep a careful watch on the conduct of the boat, and to look out for the safest channels and the sunken rocks. Hilda, who regarded the approach of an imagined iceberg with complacency, became really timid when she noticed a heavy squall coming towards us from the outer sea; and until the sail had been lowered, and our bow hove round to meet the breeze and let it pass, I believe she was not quite confident that I was able to manage the boat in safety. Thora had often referred to this pleasant sail, and the few primroses I had gathered for her on the banks of a rivulet running down one of the Graemsay glens she had worn at her neck for many days. Many a time when, from our place in the class, she had seen through the window the red-sailed fishing boats battling with the sudden gusts of wind in the rapid currents of the Sound, she would look as though she would remind me of the way we had managed the dinghy in the same dangerous flow. Thus did she begin to trust me, as mariners trusted my father. If it had not been that during the lessons, in common with his pupils, Andrew Drever took a secret pleasure in looking through the little window across Stromness harbour, and, from his position at the desk, watching the movements of the shipping, it is probable he would have erected some curtain there. The window offered a distraction to us all, for it often took our attention from our tasks, and caused many interruptions in the course of the day. But, as I have indicated, Andrew was not a severe taskmaster, and that, perhaps, was one reason of our affection for him. This morning his glances were divided between the empty bird cage at the door and the barque now making ready for sea. His poor jackdaw with its chattering--a sound once so monotonous and wearying, now most earnestly wished for--was gone, but the murderer of his pet, the brutal Baudrons, was now closely stowed away under the main hatches of the Lydia, and the dominie had his revenge. There was at least one other pair of eyes watching the trim barque, as her unfurled canvas caught the breeze and she sped away like a graceful gull. To my sister Jessie, whom, after school, I found sitting by the little pier at the Anchor Close, the vessel seemed to be carrying away one who had suddenly awakened in her a new interest in life. Captain Gordon had spoken but little with her, he was still but a stranger, but so seldom did she have speech with any man, that this meeting with one so brave and handsome as the captain of the Lydia naturally made a deep impression upon her. I should not, however, have remarked anything unusual in Jessie--except perhaps that she was less active with her fingers--had not my mother, who came out to wash some dishes in the sea, taken notice of my sister's vacant eyes. "One would fancy, Jessie," said my mother--"one would fancy that there was no wind out yonder that you send so many sighs to fill the captain's sails. What like a man is he?" "Dinna ask such questions, mother," said Jessie. "I saw him only in the gloaming. His voice was like the sighing of the waves and his eyes were like the seal's. Ah! he'll not come back again to Stromness, never again;" and as Jessie gave another sigh the ship disappeared behind the Ness. For long afterwards Jessie would speak of Captain Gordon, and I noticed with what concern she heard each reference to him, made by either myself or my father. Even the gun which the captain had given me was some sort of a solace to her, for whenever I was cleaning the weapon she would take it in her hands and admire the elegant workmanship displayed in the ornamented stock and the bright steel barrel, and then lay it down with a gentle sigh, and I knew she was thinking of Mr. Gordon. Chapter XV. In Which The Viking's Amulet Is Proved. I availed myself of an early opportunity of trying my new gun. One afternoon I found Robbie Rosson down at the shore side. He was standing near to my boat, which was moored to the jetty, and looking as though he would give anything for a sail in her. "Are ye going for a sail today, Hal?" he asked meekly. "Ay, I'll go, if you'll come with me, Robbie," I agreed. "If ye like we'll take a run o'er to Hoy Head. I'll bring my gun, and we'll have a shot at the geese." Robbie's face brightened up at the prospect, and I went indoors to fetch the gun and a supply of ammunition; also my climbing ropes, in case we needed them. We were soon in the boat. Robbie took the oars and rowed out until we could hoist the little sail, and then we rounded the Ness and got out into Hoy Sound. The wind was westward, and the current in our favour, so that we had a grand sail across the sound to the Kame of Hoy--Robbie at the tiller, and I sitting near him on the windward gunwale. How our boat danced along and curtsied on the green curling waves! How her bows lifted and fell and sent a belt of foam alongside and away behind us in a bubbling track! O, it was glorious, that sail across to Hoy! Sitting there in the sunshine, the fresh breeze blowing in our faces, we had nothing to do but tend the helm and keep the boat well to the wind, and away we sped. Our enjoyment of the sail was so full that we spoke but little. We talked of Tom Kinlay's work on his father's new boat, and made surmises as to the nature of the trade or traffic it was to be engaged in; but whether the boat was to be sent to the saith fishing, or to be used as a tender to the ships, we could not tell. There was one thing that Robbie wanted to set his mind easy about, and that was the viking's amulet. In common with all the lads in the school, he had heard of the wonderful powers attributed to this little stone; and, like them, he was thoroughly credulous of its ability to preserve me from personal harm, vet anxious as I was myself to put it to the proof. "I'd like fine if we could have a chance of adventure today," he said, taking the stone in his hand as it hung by a cord from my neck. "How can we be sure that the thing will be the saving of you, if ye dinna put it to the trial?" "We'll see, we'll see," I said. "But there's no use seeking danger for the sake of trying the effects of the charm. Maybe we'll find the danger without seeking it, however, and then we'll have the proof." As we sailed swiftly under the high cliffs of Hoy Head we watched the mad plunging of the landward-rushing waves, and saw them hurl themselves at the great rocks, leaping in clouds of spray. What a rattle and a roar each wave made on the pebbles of the beach as it drew back before returning to the charge! And in the midst of the foam the sea birds circled and screamed in their flight. We had some difficulty in finding a safe landing place among the surge; but at last we steered the boat into the quiet Bay of the Stairs, and soon drove her nose into the stony beach and drew her well up out of the water, fastening her painter round a large rock. Safely landed, Robbie shouldered the climbing ropes and I took the gun, having a stock of dry powder and shot in my pockets. We climbed over some large boulders into the next creek, where, as we had expected, we found a multitude of noisy sea birds, some floating on the clear pools on the shore; others running about among the sea-worn stones or seeking food with busy beaks in the bright green and crimson weeds that lay in patches among the pebbles. The ledges of the cliffs were crowded with gulls, whose plumage was as snowy as the very foam that the high waves scattered over their ranks. In a little cove at the extremity of the bay were scores of kittiwakes, chattering over some dead fish thrown up by the sea. Here was a rare hunting ground for two eager young sportsmen! Close to us a couple of turnstones, smart little birds in brown, with bright-red legs and beaks, were busy on a heap of kelp. I levelled my gun at them, and was about to fire, when Robbie stayed my hand and pointed to a large cormorant sheltered in a deep niche of the cliff and looking darker even than the dark rock over its head. I altered the direction of my aim, keeping well out of the bird's sight, with my back against a wall of granite. It was well for me that I did so, for without this support in the rear I should surely have fallen. When I drew the trigger I received a fearful blow in the chest from the butt of the gun and a thump on the back from the rock. The report of the gun sounded loud through the chasms, and the echo was repeated along the line of the cliffs and far over among the glens, as though a whole volley of musketry had been fired. Birds flew about in all directions, uttering wild cries of warning to each other. The air was crowded with flying gulls. When the smoke cleared away we looked for our cormorant, and there he was, perched on the same bald point of rock, coolly preening his black feathers. Then, as we ran up towards him, he stretched forth his long neck, raised his wings, and sped away across the sea. Either I had missed my shot, or the bird's tough skin had felt no sensible touch. And where now were all our birds? Far out over the gray sea they flew, secure from the range of our gun. We waited long for their return, but only an occasional kittiwake soared high above us, and some, bolder than the rest, presently returned to their brooding places on the cliffs. We could not think of firing while the gulls were on the wing, they swept past us so quickly. We therefore scrambled over some abutting rocks into a further bay, and still onward along the rough beach as far as the stack of Hellia--a great steep rock standing out in the sea under the frowning height of St. John's Head--and here we found as large a number of birds as we had formerly seen. We had arranged to take our shots turn about, and now it was Robbie's turn. Having charged the gun, we stood quiet for a time, patiently awaiting our chance. A carrion crow flew to a rock between us and the water's edge. Robbie was ready. He took a deliberate and steady aim and fired. A feather dropped from the bird as it took flight. "Man, Hal, I think that hit him!" exclaimed Robbie, running up to secure the feather. "Ay," said I. "But I'm thinking we both want some practice, Robbie. We'll have no birds today, I reckon. Let's put up some cock-shy on yon rock and fire at it. There's no use shooting at the birds. We'll hit them, maybe; but we'll not kill anything, I'm feared." So we erected a tall stone on the top of a rock, and, standing some paces from it, practised firing at the object until we could hit it, perhaps, once out of half a dozen tries. But we soon got tired of this play, and I proposed climbing up to the top of the cliffs, for all the birds seemed to be flying high. Walking along to a broken cleft of the headland, where a burn came down from the hills through a long gorge, we turned up the ravine and mounted the heights. No sooner were we up there, however, than we found that the birds were all below us on the beach. We were making our way up the ravine, Robbie carrying the climbing lines and I the loaded gun, when a large sea bird with wide-sweeping wings flew just over our heads. Without thinking of hitting him, but simply wishing to empty the gun of its charge in case of accident, I took aim and fired. The great bird faltered in its flight, one of its wings seemed to lose all power, and then with a circling swoop he came down with a thud upon a grassy knoll beside the stream. It was a fine solan goose. He was quite dead when we reached him, for I had shot him under the right wing. My good fortune excited Robbie to such a degree that he would not be satisfied without again trying a shot. So we loaded the gun once more, and about half a mile further up the glen he had the luck to knock over a small rabbit. This was the extent of our sport. To climb up this wild and desolate glen was no easy matter, for I must tell you that St. John's Head, the summit of which we had to cross before getting back to our boat (for the tide would not allow of our return by the beach), stood above the sea to a height considerably over a thousand feet. The goose and our climbing ropes were also tiring burdens, and we had many times to take rest beside the stream and quench our thirst in its cool water. Some distance above the sea the ground became smoother, and broken rocks gave place to short heather, which was softer for our bare feet. When at last we reached the top of the Head, and our trouble was over, we sat down on the breezy front of the hill and looked far away across the restless water, where the sea line melted into the blue haze of the Scotch coast. Nearer to us the water itself was blue, then pale green with bands of purple above beds of weed, and over all the white waves curled into foaming crests, silent to us as snow. Southward, along the cliffs, a high steeple rock--the Old Man of Hoy--stood like a sentinel guarding the coast, his head on a level with the cliff behind him; and rounding Rora Head were the brown sails of a few fishing craft making for Stromness. "Come, Robbie," I said, when we had feasted our eyes on this scene. "Come, we must be getting home. The tide has turned this long while past, and we'll be hungry before we're back to Stromness." We were, indeed, already somewhat hungry, and regretted we had not brought food with us instead of the climbing ropes, which had not so far been required. To think of getting anything to eat where we were was needless, for we were on the most desolate part of the Hoy island, and not a house was there for miles away. The walk back along the ridge of the cliffs was easy, the ground sloping downward in our favour. About a mile further on we came to the cliffs below which our boat was moored. But, alas! we had been sadly out in our reckoning. The boat was afloat, deep down there, tugging desperately at her rope and grinding her sides against a rock. To get down to her was now a problem. From our high position we could see how the tide had risen well above the rocks by which we had climbed from one bay to the other, and our only course was to descend by the steep precipice surrounding the creek wherein the boat was moored. There was no possible way down except by the use of the ropes, and this was an extremely difficult and dangerous undertaking, for the cliffs rose fully three hundred feet in height, and our lines, of which we had two, would scarcely, when joined together, measure more than half that length. For we used them for the cliffs of Pomona, which are not in any place so high as those of Hoy. We had a long consultation first, as to which of us should make the descent. Robbie offered to go down, as he was the lighter weight and I the stronger for holding the upper end of the rope. Yet I was a little afraid of letting him undertake so difficult an adventure, being conscious that he had had less practice at cliff climbing than I. "Robbie," I said, "let me go down. You can hold the line--" and then suddenly remembering my magic stone, I added, "and remember, Robbie, that I have this little stone to keep me from harm." At once Robbie cast away all fear and became quite confident. "What fools we were not to think of that!" he exclaimed. "Come away, let us tie the lines together, and you'll go down as safe as a bird, Hal. Hooray! we have a chance of testing the worth of the stone after all!" Robbie's confidence gave me courage--or was it the remembrance of the viking's charm that made me bold? However it be, I now thought no more of going down this unfamiliar precipice than if it had been one of those that were so well known to me on the Mainland. Having tied the two ropes securely together, we looked for a convenient point at which to make the descent. We went out to the furthest part of the embayed cliff, and looking over to the opposite precipice saw a suitable spot less steep than the rest, and where also, some distance below the brink, there was a projecting pinnacle of rock which might serve as a pillar round which to secure the rope. We took the climbing line and cast one end of it over the cliff, letting it fall as far down as the pinnacle I have mentioned. Robbie then held the rope, with the help of a boulder of rock round which he secured it, and I proceeded to lower myself down the steep. It was easy work getting to the pinnacle; but this was only the beginning. I whistled up to Robbie when I had gained a sure footing, and he let down the rest of the rope. And now I had to manage everything else unaided, for Robbie could not, with what contrivances he had on the top of the cliff, have been of any further help. Before I had cast the rope over the point of rock, he was across at the far side of the embayment, where he could watch my progress and give me directions. Having passed the line over the rock pillar and allowed the two ends to hang down in equal lengths, I climbed over, and with considerable difficulty caught hold of the double rope, by which I let myself slowly and cautiously down, now holding to the face of the rocks with hand and foot, now swarming down by the ropes alone, until a cry from Robbie warned me that I was coming to the end of the lines. Fortunately I was able to reach a ragged point where I could once more get a firm foothold. Resting there, I reflected that I was not yet halfway down the precipice; and now I had to think of how I should manage to haul the rope down and secure it to another projecting rock. The only suitable point I could see was some yards away from me to the right side, and I had to climb upward again before I could find a shelf by which to approach it. After a tedious attempt--during which my magic stone came very near to proving its power--I at last reached the desired place. A gull fluttered away with a wild cry as with bleeding fingers I held on to the ledge of rock; and there I found, nestling upon their bed of moss and weeds, a pair of woolly little chicks which stared strangely at my intrusion. My safety, perhaps even my life, depended upon my getting astride of that small rocky point where the young gulls sat. In my extremity I took hold of one of the chicks, intending to throw it down the cliffs; but the mother bird flew towards me with such piteous cries that even in my danger I could not be so cruel, so I removed the little ones to a crevice close at hand and seated myself upon their nest, thankful of the refuge it afforded. And now I heard a shrill whistle from Robbie Rosson, by which I understood that, seeing my comparative safety, he was going to find some place where he could get down to the beach, there to wait until I should bring the boat round for him. But I must say that I thought my chances of ever getting round to him were very small. I was not by any means so safe as he seemed to think, for being once seated on that shelf of the cliff I found that my next difficulty would be to turn round with my face to the rock in order to continue the perilous descent. I had now to get my rope down from the height above me. First then I tied one end of the line round my body so that the rope might not fall, and, allowing the other end to hang slack, began to haul away. Things went well for a few moments, and the rope answered to every pull I gave. But, alas! there came a check. I had let loose the wrong end, and the knot by which we had connected the two lines had caught in some crevice. Try as I might I could not loosen it; yet I was not certain that its hold was firm enough for me to venture climbing up again by the portion of the rope that I held in my grasp. My thoughts were fearful. Here was I, stranded on this ledge of rock, midway up the face of a steep precipice, the sea roaring far beneath me, and with no obvious means of escape either above or below. My boat looked small away deep down there as she tugged at her mooring line and tossed wildly about in the rising tide. O, how I wished that I was seated at her helm, and in sight of my beloved Stromness! Instinctively I felt for my magic stone. It hung safely under my knitted shirt. I trusted in the security it gave me, and my courage was renewed. The way out of my predicament was so hopeless, my danger so great, that I solemnly resolved, should I ever reach home again, to attribute my escape from this peril to the intervention of the viking's talisman. Long and wearily I waited, contemplating the difficulties of my situation, and in the end I almost determined to hazard the further descent without the help of the rope, trusting merely to the skill of my hands and feet. My first endeavour was to get back along the shelf of rock until the rope should hang perpendicularly. Accordingly I restored the young seagulls to their nest, turned myself round with my face to the cliff, and, with much difficulty, retraced my way for some distance. I was in a half-creeping position, holding by the right hand to niches of the cliff, when, a sharp corner of stone digging into my knee, I stumbled, and would surely have fallen far down upon the rocks of the beach, had I not still held firmly to the rope. The sudden jerking, however, did one good thing; it loosened the knot from the place where it had been held in the rock above, and the rope itself came down by its own weight until it hung from my waist where I had tied it. The further descent was now performed with comparative ease, and in the manner I had at first intended. I hung the rope at half its length over a point of rock, seeing now that it had a free run, and allowing the two ends to fall. Then I swarmed down the double line until I found another suitable place for hanging the rope by. Thus making the descent by repeated stages, I stepped at last upon the level rocks of the beach, sincerely thankful for my escape from so great peril. When I scrambled over the rocks towards the boat I found she was floating in full three fathoms of water, so that my only course was to swim out to her. This, however, was a small matter after what I had gone through. I stripped myself on one of the outlying rocks, and plunging into the water soon reached the boat and clambered over the stern. I was obliged to "slip the anchor," for the painter was tied deep below the water and had to be sacrificed. But I did not take long to recover my clothes and dress myself, and then I took to the oars with a will and rowed along the shore in search of Robbie. Steep and frowning looked the great cliff that I had come down. I regarded it with a new interest, and felt some sense of pride and satisfaction in my narrow escape from so serious a danger. Again I took my viking's stone in my fingers, and my faith in it was complete. Robbie was patiently waiting for me seated on one of the outer rocks in a further bay. His face brightened as he saw me rounding the point. "Man, Ericson," he exclaimed joyfully, "I'm real glad to see ye again! I e'en thought ye'd met wi' some mischance. I was terribly feared!" "Feared, were you? Well, so was I; but I managed all right, you see, thanks to the viking's charm." Robbie brought on board the gun, with his rabbit and the dead gannet. And then we rowed back to Stromness. It was long past sundown when we rounded the Ness point, and the beacon lights were streaming over the bay, but we reached the little quay at the end of the Anchor Close without any mishap. Both of us were very hungry after our sport. On that evening, I remember, I spent a very happy time at the home fireside. My uncle Mansie was there, with my father, and my mother, and Jessie. It was almost the first occasion on which I was permitted to join in the conversation with my elders. But the evening has ever since had a pathetic interest in my memory; for, as it turned out, it was the very last time that our family sat together in an unbroken circle. "Ye're gettin' to be quite a good boatman, Hal, to gang all that way under sail," said Mansie; and then he turned to my father, saying, "When are we to hae the lad aboard the Curlew, Sandy?" "Weel," replied my father, putting his great brown hand with affection upon my shoulder, "I hae been thinkin' it was about time he joined us. The lad has been at the school lang enough, mebbe. "Are ye at the head o' the class yet, Halcro?" "Nay, father, he's no that yet," interposed Jessie, "for Thora is aye before him." "Thora can read better than I can," I said, "and she kens mair geography. She's better at the Latin, too; but the dominie says I'm the best at history, and writin', and accounts." "Ye'll no need very muckle Latin to be a pilot, however," said my father. "But it's a pity ye're not better at the geography. How many islands have we in Orkney? Can you tell me that?" "Seventy-two--twenty-eight islands and forty-four holms." "And can ye name them all, the twenty-eight islands?" "Yes, the dominie taught us them last Martinmas;" and I proceeded to name them, from the North Ronaldsay down to the Muckle Skerry of Pentland. "Very good!" said my father; "and d'ye ken ony thing about the sounds? Where's the Sound o' Rapness?" "There's a puzzle for ye, Hal," said my mother. "Ah! I warrant the laddie kens it," said Mansie. "Is it not between Westray and Fara?" I ventured doubtfully. "Right again!" exclaimed Mansie, slapping his knee. "Oh! we'll mak' a pilot o' the lad yet." "Ay," said my father, "we maun hae him aboard the first fine day." "Dear me, father," objected my mother, "d'ye really think it wise to tak' the laddie frae the school, an' him gettin' on sae weel wi' the dominie?" "Tut, goodwife," said he, "the laddie maun begin to learn the piloting some time; an' the sooner the better, say I. "Hand me over the tobacco jar, Jessie." Chapter XVI. Wherein I Go A-Fishing. A few days after the sailing of the Lydia the weather broke. The morning mist lay heavy on the islands, and the lofty Ward Hill of Hoy hid his crown in the lowering clouds; the Bay of Stromness was glassy calm. High above the rain goose shrieked its melancholy cry, and the sea mews and sheldrakes, even the shear waters and bonxies, flew landward to the shelter of the cliffs. On the upland meadows the cows sniffed the moist air and refused to eat, and the young lambs sought the protection of their parents' side. My sister Jessie, with evident thought of Captain Gordon, noticed these signs of approaching storms. But if to her they portended ill, to me they meant good sport; for what could be more favourable to a day's fishing than a sprinkle of rain and a good westerly wind? Telling my mother one Saturday morning that I would stay over Sunday at my uncle Mansie's farm at Lyndardy, I started off with my fishing tackle and my dog, with the intention of catching a few trout in the stream I had so strongly recommended to the schoolmaster. The dog was certainly no necessary companion for a fishing excursion; but Selta had learned to follow me on such occasions without interfering with my sport, and I got into the way of talking with her, and found comfort in her dumb companionship. Passing through the hamlet of Howe, I reached the Bush at a point where that wide stream runs into Scapa Flow by the Bay of Ireland. This, I had found, was a favourite resting place for sea trout before running into the lochs, and here I enjoyed good sport for the whole morning. I fished upstream--as I think a true angler should do--for though, as Andrew Drever held, fishing downward was the easier method of the two, especially with the wind at his back, yet I preferred my own way, just as I preferred fishing with artificial fly to fishing with bait, merely because it was more difficult and more surely exercised my skill. The third cast I made filled me with an enthusiasm I long had known. A sudden jerk at the line and a fish was hooked. I paid out more line as the trout darted off, then drew in as it slackened again. Once more, as the fish felt the strain, he plunged off. I saw him jump, and his scales flashed in the gray light like a bright blade of steel, a loop of line gathering round him. At length the prize was taken, and a fine sea trout was brought exhausted to the bank. Thus I fished, now wading to the knees in the rapid stream, now sitting on a large stone readjusting my flies. Before noon the rain fell heavily, but by the time that I reached the Bridge of Waithe my basket was full, and I walked along the road as far as Clouston, the dog following in the wet with drooping, draggling tail, and ears dripping with the rain. My clothes were wet through and I was cold, and, wishing for shelter and a bite of food, I turned across the heath to Jack Paterson's croft. I opened the door of the little cottage without knocking, and found Jack and his wife Jean at home, with their family of six waiting for their midday meal. Hilda, the eldest girl, was arranging some wooden dishes on the table ready for the potatoes. Poor as the place was, I received a true and simple welcome, and I was glad of the shelter and the warmth, for the wind was whistling round the eaves and the heavy rain pelting against the little window. Jack Paterson was a poor crofter, who added to his scanty means by going to the deep-sea fishing, or, out of the fishing season, by burning kelp. These occupations, combined with the produce of his croft, made up, I am afraid, a very poor living. The cottage was small, so small that I always wondered how so large a family could live in its one little room with any comfort. In the middle of the clay floor, on a stone slab, was a large peat fire, the smoke of which escaped by a hole in the roof, where the rain came through. By the side of the fire were two large high-backed chairs entirely wisped round with straw, so that none of the framework could be seen. In a great three-legged pot, which hung over the flaming peats by a chain from the bare rafters, some potatoes were boiling, and whilst they were cooking Jean Paterson cleaned and fried some of my fish, which came, I think, as a welcome addition to the family's meal. Jack Paterson was a very tall, muscular man, with a long red beard and soft brown eyes. His hands were the largest I have ever seen; but the right one wanted a finger. This, I believe, was the only exception that one could make in saying that Jack was absolutely perfect in his great manhood. He would have made a splendid man-o'-war's man, and the press gang had more than once tried to secure him. Not till long afterwards, when, as pilots, we were out at sea together one clear starlight night, did he tell me how his finger was lost. It happened at a time when the press gang were more than usually busy in Orkney pressing men for a frigate that lay in Stromness harbour. The blue jackets had had their eyes upon Jack Paterson, but Jack, who was just about to be married to Jean Nicol, did not intend being caught; and he said to Jean one day that rather than enter the navy, he would cut one of his fingers off, and so make himself unfit for service. One dark night he was walking along one of the country lanes with his sweetheart when a body of tars fell upon him, and, after a sharp fight, carried him off to an old stable in the town that served as a temporary lockup. Very early the next morning Jean Nicol knocked gently at the stable door. "Are ye there, Jack?" said she. "Yes," replied Jack; and his warders, who were two foretop men, allowed him to speak with her through the keyhole. "I've brought your release," said Jean. "Put your hand under the door and I'll give it to you." Jack put his right hand through under the door, and felt something cold placed across his forefinger. Then there was a knock as of a mallet upon a chisel, and with a cry of anguish he drew in his hand streaming with blood. Jean had cut off his finger. Now, a man with a lame hand is of small account in the service, and so when the lieutenant came and saw Jack's condition he released him, with a round curse at having lost so fine a man, and the frigate sailed away. Jean got her punishment, however, and so did Paterson. Soon after their marriage, and when Jack's hand was healed, he one day met a man-o'-war's man who belonged to Stromness, and had been among the pressed men. Jack heard from him of the cruise of the frigate, and of a fight with the enemy, and a great store of prize money that every man had shared. That prize money was a sore lump in Jack's throat ever afterwards. While I was talking with Paterson in his cottage, my dog sat comfortably before the warm fire, the steam rising from her wet hair. She did not appear to like leaving the cosy place; but when we had finished the meal, and I was once more dry and warm, I started off again in the pouring rain and the rising wind. I did not wish to continue my fishing in such boisterous weather, but contemplated a hasty walk over to my uncle's farm. Our way lay westward in the face of the wind. The walk over the wet peat moss was difficult and tiring, and when I reached the Ring of Brogar I was glad to avail myself of the shelter afforded by the giant Druid stones that stand and wait by the loch of Stenness. All was desolation around: not a house was to be seen, nor any living thing but my dog and a few wild birds that flew quickly past. The only sounds were the beating of the rain and the distant roar of the Atlantic waves upon the coast. A slight lull in the tempest urged me on, and soon I had left far behind me those mysterious old stones, that seemed through the misty rain to waken into life. Like a procession of priests they appeared to pass with bent heads and slow and stately pace along the margin of the great stretch of water. Crossing the swollen burn which connects the lochs of Cluny and Stenness, and thinking only of my destination, I was called back by a sharp bark from my dog. I turned, and found her encountering a large otter that had been slipping down to the stream. Now, I had the angler's hatred of otters, which abounded in these waters. Many a time had I seen a prime fish lying dead on the banks with a single bite taken out of the shoulder, and I looked upon the otter as the common poacher of the neighbourhood. I went to the help of Selta, for the dog was crouched down ready to spring upon the otter when it should run out from behind the large stone where it had retreated. I cautiously removed the stone, and the animal slipped downward towards the water. "Now, now, Selta!" I exclaimed; and the dog made a rush at its prey. The otter, thus intercepted, showed fight. Selta made a snap at its back, and raised her forepaw to hold her enemy down. The otter caught the foot in its mouth, and I heard the bones crunch in the vicious bite. Selta lost hold and fell over the otter's back; her foot was released; but the otter, bringing up its head between the dog's front legs, grasped Selta's throat with its sharp teeth. With a piteous whine the dog tried to spring away, but her leg was too much broken to support her, and the two animals rolled over on the flat stone, the otter uppermost, still with its teeth in the dog's throat. And now I saw my first chance of interfering. I grasped the otter by the back, and tried to drag it away. I had no boots on my feet, or I might have used them. All I could do was to plant my foot on the animal's back, and stand with all my weight upon it. The otter thereat turned savagely upon me, and, unfortunately for myself, not even the possession of the viking's charm could save me from those sharp teeth. With a fierce snarl the otter took hold of the back of my ankle, its teeth penetrating the skin and tearing it over. I had sense to bend down and grasp the animal with my hands and rapidly snap its backbone, finishing my work by dashing a heavy stone upon its head. Forgetting my own hurt, I then turned to look after my dog. Selta was lying upon the wet stone, the blood trickling from her throbbing neck. I knelt down beside my faithful companion, and took the injured foot in my hand. The dog had strength only to raise her head in recognition, with a mournful look in her pleading eyes. "My poor doggie!" I moaned, utterly cast down; and my falling tears were mingled with Selta's blood. The dog was dead. Chapter XVII. How The Golden Rule Was Kept. My first thought on leaving the scene of this combat was to let the dead otter lie where it had fallen; but I remembered that young Thora Kinlay had once in my hearing expressed a wish to have an otter's skin, of which to make a pair of gloves, and I determined to make use of the animal I had killed. But I could not carry both the otter and my poor Selta, whom I had already determined to lay to rest in the sea, and my only course was to strip the otter of its skin then and there. This I did with help of my pocketknife, and in spite of the heavy rain that poured in streams down my back. You will imagine the physical discomforts of my further journey. The ground was marshy and sodden, and I sank deep into it at every step I took. My clothing was wet through and through, and my dog, which I carried over my shoulder, was a burden so heavy and inconvenient that only my love for my late companion and respect for her lifeless body gave me sufficient strength to bear it for so great a distance. And then the rain fell incessantly, and the wind was full in my face. Carver Kinlay's farm of Crua Breck was on my way to my uncle's, and I thought I would stay there a few moments as I passed, to leave the otter skin for Thora, and maybe get shelter and a drink of warm milk. But not till I was almost at the door did I remember about my recent fight with Tom. In its exposed position on the bleak hillside the farmstead felt the full force of the gale as it beat in fury against the front of the house. The rain and the salt spray from the sea pelted upon the windows, and laid low all Thora's flowers in the little garden. The large fuchsia bush, which in summertime dangled its drooping blossoms in rich profusion, seemed the only plant capable of withstanding the rough blast; and the great gaunt jaws of the Greenland whale, that formed an archway at the gate, trembled in the tempest. I went up to the door, and opening it stood within the shelter of the porch for a while, and heard someone reading aloud. Soon I gathered courage enough to approach the inner door, and look through its little window into the room. A rousing fire of peats and dried heather was blazing on the hearth, around which the family were gathered in a half circle. In an armchair, with a open book on his knee, sat Carver himself. By his side sat his wife knitting a stocking, the firelight glinting on her fair hair. Near to her were a ploughman and a herd boy, also a young woman who did the light field work on the farm and milked the cows, made butter, and helped in the house. Tom sat by the fire opposite his father, and I could see that he was polishing with a piece of leather one of his silver coins. Thora, whose silken hair and beautiful face I regarded with greater satisfaction than any other feature of this group, sat apart from the others, as though she did not care, or had not been invited, to draw her stool nearer to the warmth. Carver Kinlay, black bearded and hoarse of voice, was reading aloud to his family, and seemed to be expecting from them an attention to the Holy Word which he certainly did not sincerely give to it himself. When he came to the end of a passage which he considered required expounding, he would take off his reading spectacles and wipe them with a corner of his wife's white apron. "Now, I have explained many times before about this, bairns," he was saying as he looked towards Thora and Tom. "It is a rule, a golden rule, that the merest child might understand. Nothing can be more beautiful or more important, and it just contains these few words: 'Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.' Now keep this precept in mind, all of you, for ye canna misunderstand it. But, just to make the thing clear-- "Never mind the cat, Thora; just pay attention to the lesson-- "Just to make the thing clear, let us suppose an example. Now, then, supposin', for instance, that Thora here saw a basin full o' milk with thick cream on the top o' it, and that her teeth were watering for just one lick. She ought to say to herself: 'Now, here's a basin full o' good cream; I'd like fine to take one lick of it. But it's the cream for making the butter of. Now, supposin' I was your mother, how would I like my daughter Thora to come and--'" "Oh! Look, look!" cried Thora, "pussy's tail's burnin'!" "Confound you, Thora!" exclaimed her father, angered at this interruption. "Can you not pay attention, and let pussy mind her own tail? I say, if you were your mother, how would you like your daughter Thora to lick the cream?" "Tut, goodman!" interposed Mrs. Kinlay, "what does the lass ken about being a mother? Go on with the reading." "Odd, goodwife, I'm but supposin' the thing; and the plainer it is the better, and the easier to understand. However, what verse was it, Thora?" "It was the fourteenth you left off at," said Thora. "Aweel, then, the fifteenth: 'Now, when he'--Odd, but I think we read that before." "Nay, you didna read it before, father, for it was the fourteenth verse you left off at." "Nay, I'm sure it couldn't be that, for I remember readin' 'Now, when he,' before." "But I'm sure, father, ye're wrong," persisted Thora. "Look you if the fourteenth doesn't end with 'people,' and 'people' was the last word you read." "'People, people!'" said Carver, searching for the place. "Odd, lassie, I see no 'people.' There's one verse that ends with 'people,' but it's not the fourteenth. It had been that, ye silly lass, instead o' the fourteenth." "Well, well, goodman, what dos't matter what verse you left off at," said his wife. "A good tale's none the worse of being told twice." "Nay, but," said Thora, "just look for fun and see what the fourteenth verse ends with." "Fun, lassie! fun!" exclaimed Carver, as though he was seriously shocked. "Would you speak o' fun and the Holy Scripture lying open before you?" "O, but, father, I had no mind. A body canna aye be minding. Look and see not for fun, then." "Tut, tut!" said the mother, becoming impatient, "can you not begin at the fifteenth verse? What dos't matter if ye read it before?" "Aweel, then, the fifteenth verse, 'Now, when he'"-- "Listen, father!" cried Thora, again interrupting, "did you not hear something?" "Well did I hear something, and I hear it yet--the rain pelting on the window. I'm sure you've heard it this two hours and more." "Nay, but it was like something twirling at the handle of the door." "You hear things nobody else hears, Thora. Who could be at the door on a day like this? You just think you hear things. I was sure 'people' was not the last word." Carver listened, however, for a time. The rain beat harder than ever on the windows, and from the neighbouring cliffs came the sound of the waves like a rumbling of distant thunder. But as he looked up from his book I knocked gently on the door. "Who's there?" he asked in a gruff tone that had in it no echo of charity. Thora rose from her seat and came towards the door, where I stood in a stream of water that ran from my wet clothes. "Oh, Halcro!" she exclaimed as she looked down at my cold, bare feet and saw the blood issuing from the wound in my ankle. "Oh, Halcro, what has happened?" and she opened wide the door to admit me. "What does the lad want here?" asked Carver. I had never been asked such a question before. I had been accustomed to go about the island all my boyhood, and to walk in at any door I came to with the assurance that no person would question me as to what I wanted. At length, without going further than the threshold, I said: "I was thinking you would give me shelter for a short time on a day like this." "On a day like this," replied he, "none but a fool would think of travelling; and if it's shelter you're seeking here, young Ericson, I say no!" and the unfeeling "No" was echoed by all the others in the room, with one exception. That exception was Thora. I saw the girl's hands quickly clench when she heard this unkind dismissal, and in her blue eyes the tears welled up and stole gently down her fair cheeks. I felt that the "No" could be easily withstood, but the tears in Thora's eyes overcame me. I gave her a look of thanks, closed the door behind me, and again faced the storm, first going round to the back of the house to take up in my arms the body of my poor dog. I hung up the otter's skin on a hook in the byre, where I believed Thora would discover it, and so make what use of it she might. I carried the dog still further, however. Taking it down to a small creek that gave entrance to the seashore, I came to a rock that was washed by the deep waters, and here I tied a large stone around Selta's neck and silently lowered the body into the sea, where the great waves of the Atlantic murmured a solemn requiem. Then, regaining the top of the cliff, I stood for a time looking seaward, where the curling waves swept in from the west and dashed with terrible strength against the hard rocks of granite. There was no sail to be seen as far as my sight could penetrate through the driving rain mists; but I knew that the storm would be fatal to many a brave fisherman and sailor, and many a strong-built ship. My sad thoughts and the noise of the breakers so much absorbed me that I felt conscious of nothing so much as my utter loneliness. But as I stood there in my wretchedness, suddenly a hand was laid gently on my shoulder, and I looked round, to see Thora at my side, with a great cloak thrown about her, and her hair streaming in the wind. "Halcro," she said, "it is not this way I can see you turned from my father's door in the rain and the wind, and with that wound in your foot. Pm sorry he spoke to you like that, for I'm sure you'll be tired and weary. "I have brought you some oatcake--see. Eat it, while I mend your foot." Then she knelt down before me on the wet, mossy rock, took a piece of clean linen from under the cloak that covered her, and wiped clean my wound. With her fingers she gently drew over the torn skin, and taking another piece of white cloth bandaged it neatly round my ankle. While she was so employed I informed her of my fight with the otter and the loss of my dog, and her gentle sympathy was sweet to my troubled spirit. And then I told her where she might find the otter's skin, and how she should make use of it. "There, now," she said, putting a pin through the bandage and rising to her feet, "that will serve till you get home." "It's real kind of you to do this for me, Thora," I said, touched by the girl's tenderness, "and I will not forget this. No, not as long as I live;" and I think there was a tremor in my voice--at least I felt what I said. "But," I continued, "what will they say to you at Crua Breck, if they hear you have done this thing?" "Halcro, I have done nothing but what I have been told to do. Before you knocked at the door, my father was saying we should aye 'do as we'd be done by.' In that I have obeyed him. But I must run back now, or they will miss me. See you give care to the foot. Fare ye well!" And with that she hastened back to the farm, leaving me to ponder over her manner of applying that golden rule which her father had, while teaching it, so grievously failed to practise. I made my way onward to Lyndardy--sadly, it is true, but with a strange new feeling in my heart for this blue-eyed maiden who, in defiance of her family, had helped me in my weariness and distress. A short distance from the place where Thora left me, I came to the ruined cottage of Inganess. As I approached I heard a click-clicking noise, by which I surmised there was some person within the ruined walls. A dog came out to meet me at the door, wagging its tail in welcome. It was the very counterpart of my own dead Selta, and I knew well whom to expect in the cottage even before I entered. Seated on the floor under shelter of a part of the roof that had not fallen in, was an old man, with locks of silver hair appearing under his blue bonnet, and hanging with a curl about his neck. The clicking sound I had heard proceeded from a flint and the back of a knife, with which the old man was endeavouring to strike a light to kindle the little pile of faded heather that lay in a corner. When I looked in he raised his eyes and said with surprise: "Ah! Halcro, lad. Travelling on a day like this? Why, ye're as wet as myself. But come in, come in here. It's a poor house; but ye're real welcome. And where's your dog?" I was downcast at this question, for it was this same old man before me--this Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar--who had given Selta to me, and the dog that was with him was Selta's brother. "Colin," I asked, when I had told him of my dog's death, "why is it you come to this poor place for shelter when every house in the Mainland is open to you? Why do you not go to my uncle's at Lyndardy?" "Weel, ye see, lad, I dinna mind where I gang. One place is as good as another, and this is very well in a shower of rain. I was west at Crua Breck when the rain came on sae heavy; and I hae been here these twa hours tryin' to strike a light, but ye see the tinder's wet-- "Try you if ye can do it, lad;" and the old man handed me the flint. "Aweel, then," he continued, "I opened the door at Crua Breck, just as I would open any door in Orkney, be it rich or poor. But wad they let me in, think ye? Na, na. Carver was sittin' yonder, as he aye does on the rainy days, when there's nae gettin' aboot the farm, preachin' away before a bonnie fire. But the auld hypocrite wouldna let me in. What cares he for the Holy Word? If it werena for his goodwife, he'd never open the Scriptures. Ay, but it's a lang while he'll be preachin' any good into yon blackguard son o' his. There's not a house of harder hearts in all the Mainland than Crua Breck. They all take after Carver; ilka body o' them, except peerie Thora." "Yes," I said feelingly, "Thora's kinder than all the rest." "Kinder! Ay is she. She's no' like ane o' the same family. I mind ae stormy night in the last winter, when Carver had shut the door in my face, Thora cam' after me and, 'Colin,' says she, 'come away here, and I'll gie ye a bed in the byre;' and with that she took me in among the kine and gied me some oaten bannocks and a flagon o' warm milk. And then she made up a bed upon the hay, wi' a good warm plaid to wrap mysel' in. 'See there, now, Colin,' says she. 'Rest ye here, and I'll let ye out before my father rises i' the mornin'.' Now wasna that kindness for ye, Halcro?" "Ay, Colin, that was just like wee Thora." Whilst Colin was telling me these things I was busy trying to kindle the fire; but try as I would, it could not be done. "Oh, never mind the fire, Colin!" I said. "Just come along wi' me to my uncle's farm at Lyndardy. Ye'll get good shelter and food there. That's far better than staying in this ruined place." So the old man got up on his feet, and we walked together to the farm. My sister Jessie, who frequently came up to Lyndardy to stay over the Sabbath, was in the kitchen when we arrived, and while we were drying our clothes before the fire she got some good warm broth ready for us, and some new-made scones. Over our meal I told Jessie of my adventure with the otter, and the death of my dog. She wanted to dress my ankle again, but Thora had bound it up so skilfully that there was nothing more to be done. "I wonder that the otter should bite you like that, Halcro," Jessie said. "Why, I thought the old viking's stone was to save ye frae the like o' that!" I had myself wondered at the same circumstance. "Ah! but, Jessie," I said, suddenly comforting myself with an excuse for the apparent failure of the charm, "Mr. Drever didna tell me that the stone would be o' any use against such a beast as an otter." "No, I ken that. But did he not say it would protect ye from all harm? Surely an otter shouldna be left out o' the reckoning." But here Colin Lothian, to whom the virtues of the viking's talisman had been explained, suggested that I perhaps needed to have some secret communication with the stone in my own mind--that I perhaps needed to think of the charm at the very moment of danger, and to call upon it for aid. He had heard of such things, he said. This explanation appeared to me very reasonable, and with the suggestion in my mind I determined, should I ever have another opportunity, to put it in practice. Such an opportunity presented itself sooner than I could have expected. Chapter XVIII. The Wreck Of The "Undine." Colin Lothian remained at Lyndardy until the following Monday morning. He slept out in the byre, where such wayfarers as he were always welcome to a supper and a bed, and in the evenings he would come in to the kitchen to sit with my uncle and talk over the affairs of the island, or to read us a chapter out of the well-worn Testament that he carried with him on his wanderings. For Colin was a religious man and loved his Bible. He knew most of the Psalms by heart, and often gathered groups of islanders about him to hear him repeat them. Idlers sometimes scoffed at his fondness for the epistle on Charity; but no one who heard him repeat it could fail to be impressed by its teaching or to recognize the poor wanderer's sincerity. Colin was the recognized newsmonger of the Mainland, and it was his habit to travel from parish to parish retailing the gossip of the countryside. At farm towns which were situated in remote places he was always a welcome guest. He was well acquainted with the condition of the markets and the state of the fishing and the crops. He knew the price of butter and of oatmeal, of cattle and of sheep, and his information was often of great value to the farmers in adjusting the values of farm produce. With the old men he would laugh over the jokes of days that had been; tell them how laird had gone to law with laird, or how poor crofters had been evicted from their holdings for failing to pay their taxes or their rents. The young women were always ready to hear from him who was to be married at Martinmas, or how Nell So-and-so had been jilted; and he often entertained the young people with strange tales of the brownies, the trows, the kelpies, or other supernatural beings. In this way he supplied the place of newspapers and books, which were scarce commodities in those old days; and he further made himself useful by doing odd work about the steadings and cottages--such as building the peats into stacks for the winter, mending a thatch, or even doctoring a cow. On the Sunday evening at Lyndardy, while the storm still beat upon the land, Colin sat with us round the fireside and smoked with my uncle Mansie. The talk drifted round to the subject of Carver Kinlay, whose new boat was to be brought from Kirkwall that week. My uncle did not know for what purpose that new boat was built. Kinlay was a man who had no settled occupation outside his farm. Sometimes, it is true, he went out to the herring fishing when the fish were plentiful, and he thought he could make some money by it, and he often made secret passages over to Scotland for no one knew what trade. But it was for none of these purposes that the new boat was required, for it had been built with a deep keel and a lugger rig, with a view to being a quick sailer. Now if anyone should know of Carver's purpose, it would be Colin Lothian, and my uncle questioned him on the subject. "Colin," said he, "they tell me that Carver is gettin' a new boat frae Kirkwall. D'ye ken what he means to do wi' it?" "That's piper's news," said Colin. "I heard that three or four weeks syne; and I hae seen the boat mysel', on the stocks at Allan Dewar's boatyard. Ay, and a bonnie boat she is! As to what Carver means to do wi' it--Weel, I dinna ken if it be true; but I hae heard that he intends to start as a Stromness pilot in opposition to Sandy Ericson." "A pilot!" exclaimed Mansie. "Carver Kinlay a pilot! Man, Colin, ye astonish me. Why, the man hasna gotten a certificate!" "Maybe ay and maybe no; but I assure ye, Mansie, that a pilot he means to be." Mansie dismissed this notion incredulously; for though Kinlay knew the coast very well, yet the idea of his starting with his limited experience as an Orkney pilot was droll to one who, like my uncle, had been all his life at the work, and knew every fathom of the waters. But the character of Carver Kinlay--"Crafty Carver" he was called by those who knew him well--was a problem which had not yet been solved. I had myself gathered many incoherent hints relating to him, and, bit by bit, I heard fragments of fact as to his first appearance in Pomona; but on this Sunday evening, as I sat with Lothian and Mansie, I added to these hints some certain knowledge which enabled me afterwards to better understand this man. The noise of the storm raging outside--the wind and rain beating on the windows, and the sound of the waves breaking against the cliffs--brought the two men to talk about the ships that had from time to time been wrecked on our neighbouring coast. Said Mansie: "'Twas on a night like this--d'ye mind, Colin?--that the Undine went to pieces on the Gaulton Craigs." "Ay," said Colin, "weel do I mind it, and weel, I reckon, does Carver Kinlay mind it." The conversation regarding the incident was disjointed. Let me, therefore, tell the story in my own words. My father had with his gallant crew gone out to sea one stormy night in the pilot boat. A stiff westerly wind was blowing, and the headland of Hoy was hidden in mist and spray. The Curlew was steered out into the open sea in the hope of falling in with any ship that required piloting into the safe haven of Stromness. Beaten about on the heavy sea, the boat was brought along the outer coast of Pomona until she stood off abreast of the Head of Marwick. Along the coastline of Sandwick, as she sailed back towards Stromness, the waves rose in angry foam against the rugged cliffs. None but men thoroughly accustomed to the terrors of the storm-swept Orkneys could have taken that little craft through such a surging sea, and it was only by the help of the light that was always kept aglow in the windows of Lyndardy farmhouse that they were able to guide the boat in safety. When the Curlew was abreast of Inganess, Willie Slater, the lookout man at the bow, reported a ship in sight; and as my uncle Mansie lighted a rude torch, made of old rope steeped in the oil of sea birds, my father peered into the darkness and saw a large barque heading towards the land. The blazing light of the torch was presently waved as a warning signal to those on the ship. The meaning of this was understood too late, for before the vessel could turn she was driven swiftly upon the North Gaulton rocks, and there smashed like a bottle of glass. Then the sail of the Curlew was lowered, and the boat taken as close as possible to the wrecked ship. The cries of the people on board were heard in the tempest, but there was little hope of saving life. Yet the pilot crew were undaunted by any risks. Four of the men were at the oars; Mansie was at the bow with his flaming torch, and my father at the tiller. They got within hail of the ship, and after an infinite amount of trouble succeeded in saving four precious lives. These four persons were a seaman, a gentleman passenger--who was picked up suffering from a wound he had received in the head when the vessel struck--Mrs. Kinlay, and my schoolfellow, Tom Kinlay. When they were brought into the boat, Mrs. Kinlay entreated my father not to leave the wreck until he had saved her husband and her infant girl. But after much searching of the water the chance of saving any more lives was so small, and the danger to the Curlew so great, that the boat was brought to the beach at Inganess Geo, where its suffering passengers were landed and carried up to the neighbouring farm of Crua Breck. The Curlew was then taken back to the wrecked barque. One of the ship's boats had been launched by the skipper and some of the crew, who had endeavoured to save all they could; but the little craft was too frail to stand against the heavy sea; it was dashed against the sunken rocks and all were drowned. My father and his men remained by the vessel until daylight. Among the jagged rocks, when the tide went down, they found the body of a very beautiful woman with the shattered body of a child still clasped in her arms. The infant seemed to have been hurriedly taken from its bed. This fair lady was afterwards recognised as the wife of the owner of the ill-fated vessel--the gentleman my father had rescued--who had been returning with her and their infant daughter to Denmark. The lady's name was Thora Quendale, and it was her tomb that I had seen in the old graveyard of Bigging on that evening when we shared the viking's treasures. Her husband had remained in Orkney only until he had laid her and the child to rest, when, gathering the few remnants of his property that remained to him from the wreck of his ship, he took a passage in a vessel that happened to touch at Kirkwall for repairs, and with the sailor who had been saved with him he set sail for Denmark. My uncle Mansie said that this Mr. Quendale had promised to my father and others that he would be back again in Pomona in a few months, but since that time he had never been heard of. Now it happened that on the fifth day after the wreck of the Undine (for such was the vessel's name) my father was taking his small boat round to Borwick, a little hamlet two miles south of Skaill Bay. On passing the place where the vessel struck, now calm and peaceful after the storm, he shortened sail and rowed inshore. A little distance up the face of the red cliff, above the high-water mark, and hidden by a projecting rock, there was a "scurro," or fissure, which opened into a large cavern. He had discovered this cavern when he was a boy, on some bird-nesting expedition; and now, scarcely knowing why he did so--except, perhaps, for the passing thought that some of the wreckage had been washed into it by the high waves--he climbed up from his boat and entered the cave. To his astonishment he found there a half-starved man, who had been on board the Undine at the time of the disaster. Having found the cave in his endeavours to scale the cliff, this unfortunate man had contrived to live there during the five long days and nights since the wreck by subsisting on shellfish, seaweed, and a few sea-birds' eggs. What surprised my father more than all, however, was that the man had as a companion a helpless little child. Someone on the ship had placed the infant in an empty packing case, which had drifted into the cave. The pilot conveyed the two waifs ashore and took them up to Crua Breck. The man thus rescued by my father was Carver Kinlay; the little child was Thora. All that I could learn from my uncle and old Colin concerning Carver, further than this, was that he was a native of the north of Scotland, and that he and his family were passengers on the Danish ship, which was to have put in at the haven of Wick, in Caithness. Careless where he settled down, however, when cast upon the shores of Pomona, he had taken root here, like a weed in a flower garden. He seemed to have had a store of money in the big chest which he claimed from among the wreckage, and circumstances enabled him to purchase the little farm of Crua Breck, together with a fishing boat. The fishing, and a previous knowledge of the Orkney channels, had given him some experience of local navigation; and it was upon the strength of this experience that, having built his pilot boat, he intended to start in opposition to my father. The greater part of what Mansie and Colin said, as they sat in the comfortable kitchen of Lyndardy, was entirely new to me. I felt a strange pleasure in hearing now, for the first time, that Thora Kinlay owed her life, in some sort, to my own father. When he carried the little girl up to the farm, with a seaman's jacket covering her from the cold--for the women and children had all been in their beds when the ship struck--she was at once claimed by Mrs. Kinlay. They named her Thora, after Mrs. Quendale, who had shown some kindness to her during the voyage, by reason of a resemblance that existed between the two children--Mrs. Quendale's own child and the child of Mrs. Kinlay--both of whom were of a like age. The story of the wreck of the Undine gave me many matters to ponder over. But the one practical thing that I learnt was this existence of a cave in the North Gaulton cliffs. I had not known that there was such a cave at that spot, although, indeed, I prided myself upon my knowledge of the whole coastline from Rora to Birsay. I accordingly determined to explore the cliff at some future time. Chapter XIX. Tom Kinlay's Bargain. I must not omit to mention that Willie Hercus and Robbie Rosson duly delivered up to Mr. Drever their shares of Jarl Haffling's treasure. The dominie was, I believed, already in communication with the proper authorities concerning the claims that would be imposed according to what he called the law of treasure trove. But there were many delays in coming to an agreement, owing, as I understood, to official indifference and to the difficulty of determining the value of the relics, which Mr. Drever contended were worth more than their mere weight in silver. Meanwhile, the schoolmaster, anxious to keep the collection, as he said, intacto, for preservation in some museum, still held possession of the antiquities, and was nightly burning much oil in his absorbed study of them. Since Tom Kinlay had left the school Mr. Drever had not seen him. But, betimes, a message was sent by Thora to intimate to Tom that we others had given our parts of the viking's treasure into his charge, and advising that Tom should send in the remainder without delay. But Tom, who now owed no direct duty to the dominie, resolutely refused to give up his share of the treasure. On a windy Saturday morning--a week after the death of my poor dog--I was loitering about the quays in the port, when I was attracted towards a little crowd that had gathered round an old capstan. The crowd consisted of several sailors and fishermen, with a sprinkling of townsfolk, who were evidently much interested in something that was going on in their midst. I walked towards them and elbowed my way in beside old Davie Flett, the skipper of a coasting schooner, with whom I was slightly acquainted. "What's all the stir, Mr. Flett?" I asked. "Och, it's just an auld Jew doing some business," he replied; and I pressed my way further into the crowd. In the middle of the group there was a withered little man, bent with age, with a long ragged beard and a nose like the beak of a hawk. He wore a great black coat that was very shiny and reached almost down to his ankles; and in his skinny fingers he held what I soon recognized as the large red stone that Tom Kinlay had found at Skaill. Tom himself was standing near the old Jew, and bargaining with him for all the treasure that had fallen to his share. The Jew had made some offer for the gem when I came up, and Kinlay was deliberating whilst listening to the advice of the fishermen. "Take his offer, lad," advised Jack Munroe. "Ay, take it, Tommy," added another. "Ye'll mebbe never hae anither such chance again." "Nay, dinna be a fule," said Jim London. "The auld swindler kens the thing's worth mair than he offers. Gar him gie ye anither ten shillings." "No, no," protested the Jew, speaking in broken English. "I not want ze ting. Wot use I make of it?" He was about to hand it back to Tom. "Well, well," he continued, again examining the gem. "If you not satisfy, den I gif you six shilling more; wot you say, eh? Dat make ten pound and six shilling, English. It not worth one penny more, I tell you." "Mike it ten guineas," urged Kinlay. "What! ten guineas? Himmel, mine child, you make me ruined!" exclaimed the Jew. "Give the lad the ten guineas and be done with it, Isaac," said a young seaman who appeared to know him. "You'll get your own price in Amsterdam." "Well, ten guineas I will gif--two hundred and ten shilling!" And the old Jew slowly counted out the money from a dirty canvas bag that he took from his belt. I saw his little black eyes glitter as he dropped the sparkling gem into the bag and buttoned up his coat, before handing over the money. Kinlay pocketed the sovereigns, and then looked round the crowd of faces about him with an air of extreme satisfaction. At the same time old Isaac turned to a Dutch sailor who was addressing him in their own language. By the fox-like look in the Jew's eyes I understood that he, on his part, was not really discontented with the bargain he had closed. But Tom had evidently not disposed of all his valuables, for, just as Isaac was slipping away, he held him by the sleeve and showed him a handful of the viking's coins and rings, whereupon the old Hebrew renewed his bartering, with the result that Tom disposed of all his remaining store for the sum of two additional pounds. The crowd was breaking up, and the Jew again slipping away, when I called out to him, thinking I would tell him that there were some more of these things in Stromness, and believing for the moment that Mr. Drever might have some wish to deal with so generous a purchaser. Isaac could at least tell him what the treasure was worth, I reflected. "Will ye buy any more o' these things?" I asked, when he came to my side. "Well, I want nossing more, mine young friend," he replied. "I haf make a very bad bargain already. But what have you? Any more of dose pretty tings?" and he indicated the gem that he had bought from Kinlay. I thought at once of my magic stone that was suspended at my neck under my guernsey. I produced it, though of course I did not mean to let him have it at any price. "Is this worth anything?" I asked. But I had no sooner brought it forth than I felt a tugging at my sleeve. I turned round and saw old Davie Flett frowning at me meaningly. "Don't have anything to do wi' the auld thief!" he whispered, dragging me aside. "Come away, lad, an' let me tell ye something." But the Jew was already examining my little black stone, and asking me to take the cord that held it off my neck. He scratched its smooth surface with his long finger nails, and then took out an old knife from his pocket and was proceeding to insert the blade under the gold ring that encircled the stone. I snatched my precious talisman from him, and replaced it under the collar of my knitted shirt. The Jew looked surprised; but without heeding him I turned away with Captain Flett, who walked with me some distance from the dispersing crowd. When we were alone beside one of the sheds he said: "It's all right now, Ericson, my lad. I wanted but to save ye frae makin' a fule o' yersel, like Carver Kinlay's lad." "Why," I said, "Kinlay has made a very good bargain, has he not?" "Simpleton!" said the skipper. "Ye didna hear what yon Dutch sailor said to the auld Jew, eh?" "I heard, captain, but of course I didna understand," I said. "Weel, my lad, I understood," said he. "The Dutchman asked him what kind o' gem it was he had gotten frae the boy. "'It's a ruby,' said the Jew. "'Oho!'said the Dutchman. 'It's a rare big one, though. How muckle might ye be expectin' to get for it across the water--a couple o' hundred?' "Then the auld Jew gave the Dutchman a wink, and said, 'Maybe a thousand dollars, mynheer.' "So ye see, Ericson, if the auld swindler could count upon gettin', let us say, two hundred pounds English for the stone over in Amsterdam, ye can hardly say that young Kinlay got a big price for't, can ye?" I was astounded at this information. Such unfairness appeared to my boyish mind as criminal in the extreme. But a wider knowledge of the world has since taught me that in commercial transactions things are not always bought and sold at their proper value. I thanked my skipper friend, while telling him that I had myself had no intention of dealing with the merchant. Scarcely had I left Mr. Flett two minutes before I heard someone walking hurriedly behind me. I was quickly overtaken by old Isaac and Tom Kinlay. "Ericson," said Tom with a friendly tone in his voice, as though we had never quarrelled. "Let the old man hae a sight o' that thing ye've got round yer neck, will ye?" I put my hands in my trousers pockets, and made no reply. "I gif you tree shilling for it," said the Jew. "Keep your dirty money, sir," I said, turning on my heel. Then, as though he did not wish Kinlay to overhear his offer, he followed me, taking me by the sleeve: "Ah! mine friend," he said coaxingly, "I see you know wot it is. Very well, den, I gif you a sovereign." "A sovereign!" I exclaimed aloud. And Kinlay, who had now come up to us, opened his eyes in surprise. "Take the money, man," he urged. "Nay, nay," I said. "If you like to give the value of two hundred pounds in exchange for ten guineas, I am certainly not so green. Besides, ye ken weel enough that those things were not rightly yours. Mr. Drever has told you that." He did not appear to notice the latter part of what I said. "Two hundred pounds!" he exclaimed, looking from me to the Jew. "Two hundred pounds! What d'ye mean?" "I mean," I said calmly, "that you have been swindled. It's a ruby stone ye hae sold him, a ruby worth two hundred pounds." I will not soon forget the expression that came into Tom's eyes when he heard this. It was a look first of incredulity, as though he supposed I was simply playing upon him. Then it changed to a look of defeat as he realized how much he had been cheated by the crafty old Jew. He turned round to vent his indignation upon Isaac, swearing and uttering threats of vengeance. "Ye auld long-nosed deevil!" he exclaimed. "Ye heathen swindler! Gie me back the stone!" But Isaac had already slipped away from the spot like a startled trout. We saw his long coattails disappear round the corner of an alley that led down to the harbour. Kinlay followed him, still swearing and threatening, and got down to the quay just in time to see the old Jew jump into a boat that had been waiting for him. The boat belonged to a Dutch brig that was putting out to sea, and when old Isaac got aboard, the anchor was already at the cat head and the sails were bellying in the wind. Frustrated in his revenge upon the Jew, Kinlay now turned upon me his indignation. He accused me of willingly allowing him to sell the ruby below its value. I simply told him that it was no business of mine, and quietly asked him where he had got the gem. "But I needna ask you that," I added, "for I well ken where you got it." "Where did I get it?" he inquired, his face turning as red as the ruby itself. "You got it from the old viking's helmet," I replied, "for I saw you put the thing in your pocket, though you did deny that you had it that day over at Skaill. But ye'll see what Mr. Drever will say to your selling what didna rightly belong to you." "I carena that for Mr. Drever," he said, snapping his fingers. "Nor for you neither, ye young sneak." At this he turned from me without further words. But I think there was more malice against me in his heart than he allowed to appear on the surface. This incident, and my advantage over him, had at least the effect of increasing the enmity between us. Chapter XX. The Opposition Boat. The little haven of Stromness was ever a quiet place, but never did it seem so quiet as during the calm which succeeded the storm of the past week, especially as that calm came on a Sunday, that quietest of all days in the North. Even the twittering of the sparrows on the quaint housetops seemed less noisy than usual, and the women who stood in groups in the narrow street, with their clean mutch caps, their crimson hubbie jackets and coarse blue gowns, suppressed their voices almost into whispers as they talked of the growing quarrel between my father and his new rival, Carver Kinlay. The solemn stillness of the June Sabbath was everywhere apparent. The healthy scent of the peat smoke, mingled with a certain fishy odour, permeated the little town, while the cool, fresh smell of the seaweed, and the sweet perfume of the Dutch clover, came from the shores of the bay. The few men who were in port lounged about in sight of the sea, looking lazily outward at the anchored ships. On the little jetty at the Anchor Close my father sat on an upturned herring creel, smoking his pipe, and watching a flock of sea mews floating gracefully on the green water. Occasionally these birds would rise in the sunny air with long outstretched wings, and give utterance to cries not unlike the mewing of kittens. Some wind-bound vessels lay at anchor in their own reflections, keel to keel, with gay colours streaming from their mastheads. I had never before seen the bay looking so still and beautiful. But from the outer shores of the Ness came the prolonged murmur of the Atlantic waves, falling upon the ear like an everlasting sigh. I was seated in the stern of the Curlew, as the boat lay against the pier upon which my father sat smoking. Looking over her side down into the clear water, I could see the small fish dart about like flashes of silver light in the emerald depths, where the many-coloured seaweeds swayed softly to and fro with the motion of the tide; while far below, on their sandy bed, the bright shells, the sea urchins, and the green mossy stones gleamed like brilliant gems. And the low swish of the tide against the stone pier made a pleasant, sleepy sound. Sometimes, as I sat there dreamily, my eyes would wander across the smooth blue water to the distant hills, following the steady, swooping flight of an eagle. Nearer at hand, the flight of a flock of sea larks along the links of the shore would attract my attention, while once I heard the splash of a solan goose diving in the bay, and saw the spray rise in a glittering column high above the water. Suddenly my dreamy meditations were interrupted. Hurried footsteps sounded in the silent street, and looking up the passage of the Anchor Close I saw a company of men quickly passing. Among them were Carver Kinlay and his son Tom. I told my father who they were, at which he expressed much wonder, and tried to assign a cause for their hurrying. But soon our questioning was fully answered by the unexpected appearance of my sister Jessie. "Father!" said she, very much out of breath, for she had walked very quickly from Lyndardy, where she had been staying during the whole of that past week. "Well, lass?" said my father, looking round at the girl's agitated face. "What have you seen that you look so scared?" "I've seen from the cliffs," gasped Jessie. "I've seen the Lydia makin' for Stromness. She has surely put back, for her masts are away, and her bulwarks are wrecked." "The Lydia! What, Captain Gordon's ship? Ay, lass, but ye're telling me a strange thing. You'd better gang and tell Mansie to get the men out. There'll be a race wi' the new pilot, I'm thinking." And he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and came down into the boat to get her ready. Jessie, however, had no need to go and tell the crew to get ready, for she had hardly turned away when my uncle Mansie and the men hurried down the jetty and sprang into the Curlew. The day was so fine and bright that my heart yearned for a sail in the boat, and I was about to ask my father if I might go out with him, when he forestalled me by ordering me to be seated among the ropes in the bow. The quietude of the Sabbath was now changed to bustle and excitement. The oars and rowlocks were put in place, the sail made ready for hoisting, and soon all was trim and ready to start. My father's pilot boat, the Curlew, was strongly built and of great breadth of beam. It was of a pattern and rig peculiar to the Orkneys, much after the fashion of a whaling boat, and called a "sixter," from having a crew of six men. It was propelled by either sail or oars, as either was most convenient, but the Orcadian boatmen never employed the oars when the sail could be used. The boat's crew was a picked one, and seldom could six finer men be seen together. The skipper, my father, was himself a picture of manly strength, handsome and agile. His father and grandfather had been pilots; the latter, indeed, had been the chief pilot of Stromness in the year 1780, when Captain Cook's ships, the Discovery and the Resolution, lay in the harbour on their return from the South Seas. My father's shipmates, as he called them, were also fine stalwart men, each of them competent to take the skipper's place, but each willing to sacrifice anything for Sandy Ericson. My uncle Mansie was mate, and sat forward in the bow. The stroke oar was usually taken by Tom Hercus, a man of singular daring. Willie Slater was an old whaler, who could stand any hardships with perfect indifference. Then there was Jock Eunson, a good-humoured Orphir man, who, on many a dark night, had kept his mates merry as they beat about in the outer sea in search of ships; and Ringan Storlsen, of Finstown, who had been at school with my father, and with whom he had had many an adventure. "Hurry along, my lads; there's Kinlay started," said my father, seating himself in the stern sheets. With that the ropes were cast off and the sail hoisted. Then the boat was pushed off from the pier, and as she caught the light breeze she glided slowly into the bay among the sailing shadows of the summer clouds. When we were out in the deep water I looked along the line of the shore for the opposition boat; but I found she was already further out than ourselves, looking like a pleasure yacht, with her newly painted hull and clean white canvas--a contrast to the dingy brown sail and the scratched and worn hull of the Curlew. My uncle Mansie, who sat quite near to me, told me that the new boat was called the St. Magnus--after the patron saint of Orkney--and I noticed that he spoke very lightly of her as a sailer. I asked him if he did not think she would beat us in this race; but he assured me there was no fear of it, for that though Kinlay had the start of us, yet he had not the advantage of a well trained and disciplined crew, and his ropes were too new to run free. There was little chance of a race, however, in the calm bay, and my uncle, not wishing Kinlay to see that we were taking any interest in his movements, drew my attention away from the St. Magnus by asking me some questions about my viking's stone. He said that, now I had made a start in coming out in the boat, I might stand a better chance of proving the virtue of my talisman, more especially if I should be bold enough to come out on some dark, stormy night, when there would be some danger. Then some of the other men, hearing us, asked me to show them the magic stone, and it went round the whole company for inspection. By the time they had all had a good look at it, and I had hung it round my neck again, we had got full into the breeze of the outer bay. My father, who held the tiller, managed to get to the weather side of the St. Magnus, and when we reached the Ness point, where a number of people had already gathered from the town to watch the expected race, the two boats were bow to bow. Beyond the point we brought up at the same moment as the St. Magnus, and steered westward on the starboard tack, with a southwesterly breeze swelling our sails. The Curlew now bent over to leeward, our bow plunging into the waves, dashing them aside and sending the foam surging in a long track far astern. With a strong outrunning current in our favour we sped through the channel between Stromness and Graemsay, the St. Magnus being now to windward of us and several lengths behind. Tom Kinlay was sitting on the weather gunwale near his father, who was steering. It was easy to see that they were all suppressing their excitement in the race; yet their craft was brought bravely along in our track, and there was still a chance of their reaching the ship before us. The result depended upon good steering, and upon the readiness of each crew to lower sail at the right moment. From watching the St. Magnus I turned my attention to the approaching barque, which, by her green-painted hull, I soon enough recognized as the Lydia. She was struggling slowly onward against the rapids of Hoy Sound, with the wind on her starboard quarter, and as we got nearer her I could see the extent of the damage she had sustained in the late storm. She had lost her fore and main topgallant masts, and her port bulwarks were stove in. The quarter boat was missing and her jolly boat was gone. She came along at the rate of about two knots, under close-reefed topsails, storm trysails, and spanker. We could hear Captain Gordon's voice directing the working of the ship, and once I saw him on the quarterdeck, leaning over the rail to watch us. His head was bandaged as if from some accident. On the forecastle deck the mate and some men stood watching our approach, with ropes ready to throw out to us. I became inwardly excited when the moment came that was to determine everything; and even my father was a little pale as he steered us steadily towards the lee side of the Lydia. We came within a hundred yards of her when he cried out, "Lower away!" and I heard the same order given on the St. Magnus. Down came our sail in quick obedience, and at the same time oars were put out to prevent the strong stream and the way we had on us from sweeping us past the vessel. The Lydia was now in a most dangerous part of the channel, where the rapid tide was met by the equally rapid stream of Burra Sound from the south side of Graemsay island. They formed a wide, swift current of broken water, which swirled and eddied about with a rough irregular motion. As our boat passed the bowsprit of the Lydia, my father turned her head towards the ship, and my uncle Mansie was alert and ready to catch the coil of rope that was at that moment thrown down to us from the barque's forecastle. I think the rope was awkwardly thrown, or the man throwing it had miscalculated the rate at which we were driving past. Howbeit, the rope fell across our stern, beyond Mansie's reach. Leaving the tiller my father seized it with the intention of passing it forward to my uncle, holding the coil in one hand and the line in the other. As he rose from his seat, however, the rope was by some stupid mistake suddenly made secure on board the ship instead of being paid out, and my father was instantly jerked into the sea. "Let go the rope!" Tom Hercus shouted to my father. But the seaman in charge of the line on the ship's deck, taking the order as meant for himself, cast off the rope, the end of which dropped overboard before the error was discovered. Thus the rope my father held was fastened neither to the ship nor to the boat. He was a powerful swimmer, but he soon became entangled in the coil of rope in such a manner that the more he struggled to free himself the worse became the tangle, so that his very efforts to swim made his position more difficult than if he had remained still. This could all be seen from the Lydia, and ropes and life buoys, which he failed to catch, were thrown to him as he rose for a moment to the surface and finally disappeared. Now this unhappy incident threw us all into such confusion and consternation aboard the Curlew, dividing our men's attention between attempting to reach the drowning skipper and endeavouring to secure another rope thrown from the ship, that all control of the boat was lost. The Curlew was capsized by the treacherous current, and we were all engulfed without a moment's warning. An awful exclamation of "Oh, God!" was the last thing I heard as I sank below the waves, and then the water rushed into my open mouth, and I felt my cap torn from my head. Down, down I sank, struggling, yet with my eyes open, while the water became dark around me and I was drawn along by the whirling undercurrent. I raised my hands above my head and tried to regain the surface and get breath; but it was many moments before my eyes were gladdened at seeing the water grow greener and brighter. Then I could see the sunlight above me glancing and dancing in the surrounding water; then at last I felt that my hands had reached the surface, my head rose up into the open air, where I gasped and got breath. I swam about for a little, thinking only of keeping myself above water, but when I got my full breath again and found that I could keep afloat without great effort, I looked around me and remembered what had happened. There was the ship, the Lydia, lying athwart the channel, ten fathoms or so away from me, and I could see the St. Magnus beating down towards me. I looked for my father and my uncle Mansie and the other men, but could see none of them anywhere. Probably my own lightness, and the fact that I was not, like them, encumbered with heavy sea boots, had aided me in coming up to the surface before them. But I could not have helped them, even had they stood in need of such help as mine, and I knew that they were all good swimmers, so I turned round on my breast with the current and continued swimming towards the Curlew, which now floated, bottom up, to the seaward side of me. The St. Magnus very soon came within hail, drifting with the rapid stream. The men were at the oars, though they only used them to steady the boat and hold her back. Just as they were abreast of me the man at the bow cried out, "There's old Slater! Port your helm!" and the boat's head was turned away from my direction, for they had not seen me. As she slewed round, however, Tom Kinlay. who sat at the stern, caught sight of me swimming close under the boat's side. So near to him was I, indeed, that by stretching out his arm he might have caught my upraised hand. Our eyes met, and a smile of triumph played about his lips. The boat was rowed away from me without his uttering a word or once attempting to save me. I kept steadily on my way, swimming towards the Curlew, nor did I once look round again for the St. Magnus. The upturned boat was floating outward with the stream, and it took me a very long time and a strong swim, that tired my arms more than I can say, before I could be sure that I was shortening the distance that separated me from this one refuge. But at last the boat got into a whirling eddy that turned her round and round, and so kept her back until I was within a fathom of her. Yet even this short distance seemed more than I could now swim, for, with my clothes on and my jacket buttoned over me, my arms were not free enough to let me swim with any ease, and I began to despair and to flounder about in such eagerness to reach the boat, that I sank twice under the waves and got my mouth filled with the briny water. In my growing fear, however, I thought of the viking's stone that hung under my waistcoat. Surely now was a time to test its power, I thought, and the thought gave me courage. Renewing my efforts, I at length reached the boat and grasped the rudder. But the rudder came away in my hand, having been displaced in the capsizing of the boat. This, however, aided me in keeping afloat till I was enabled to reach the boat again and cling to the keel. Now was I in comparative safety, for I did not doubt that Carver Kinlay would see me and bear down to rescue me. When, after many failures, I managed to climb up the side of the boat and get astride of her keel, I began to feel sick with the sea water I had swallowed and weak after my long swim. Then my head grew dizzy, a mist came over my eyes, and I fainted away. Chapter XXI. The Rescue. When I returned to consciousness the warm sunlight was slanting down upon me. I opened my eyes and saw the snowy clouds floating in the blue sky. I thought I had but fallen asleep in the stern of the Curlew as she lay against the jetty on that Sabbath afternoon. I felt the boat rising and falling gently on the tide. All was quiet, except for the swishing of the water against the planks of the boat. I tried to speak: "Father," I said, thinking he was there on the jetty smoking. Then I felt a hand laid gently on my breast and a shadow crossed between me and the sun. "He is waking!" said a voice that sounded as sweet as the song of the skylark to my ears: "Halcro! Halcro!" A soft hand raised my head, and then I saw, looking down into my eyes, a beautiful face, framed in a mass of waving hair that the sunlight had turned into brightest gold. It was the face of Thora Kinlay. How Thora came to be there, leaning over me, I could not tell. My mind was in a strange confusion, and I remembered nothing of what I had gone through. But soon I heard another voice speaking to me. It was the voice of my sister Jessie. "Halcro! Halcro!" it murmured. "Where am I?" I asked; for I could not understand how I came to be lying in the bottom of a little sailing boat with my limbs all aching and trembling. And Jessie and Thora were at my side--Jessie steering, and Thora holding the rope of the little lug sail. How did it all come about? Then Jessie, bidding me lie still, told me in a few words how she and Thora had watched the race between the Curlew and the St. Magnus, standing on the high ground of the Ness point. They had seen the accident, and had immediately put out together in a little boat that was lying on the beach. They had rescued me from the upturned Curlew, where I lay in a faint, and were now making for the Lydia. "Have they saved father?" I asked. But the girls did not know. They had not seen anyone picked up by the St. Magnus. "Where is Carver's boat now?" I inquired; and feeling my strength return to me somewhat, I raised myself up and sat on the seat at the stern beside my sister, while Thora went forward to the mast to be in readiness to lower the sail. We were now, as I could see, only a few fathoms distant from the Lydia, which was lying athwart the stream, thus breaking the force of the current, and making it possible for us to draw up alongside. The St. Magnus was already there, having, as I afterwards found, given up the search for the unfortunate crew of the Curlew. Carver Kinlay was aboard on the quarterdeck engaged in an altercation with the skipper, who stood at the gangway. "Heave us a rope, captain!" cried out Jessie; and Thora caught the line that was thrown down, while I helped her to draw our boat to the ship's side. My clothes were still very wet in spite of the warm sun; but, with some difficulty, I got up the barque's side and joined Captain Gordon at the gangway. "Have any of our men been saved?" I asked. "My father, is he--?" But I saw by the skipper's downcast face that the worst had happened. I turned to Kinlay: "Did you not pick up any of them?" I inquired. "It was no use," said he sullenly. "We could save none of them." "You might very well have done so if you'd been more prompt," said Captain Gordon. "I saw two of the poor men above water when you turned to come back." "Why did ye not send out a boat yerself, then?" said Kinlay. "Because I have none, except the lifeboat there. We lost the others in the storm. But it was little use my thinking of launching a heavy lifeboat when you were afloat there at hand." "Well, well, it couldn't be helped," said Kinlay. "It was their own fault they were capsized, and there's no use talking. Put your helm to starboard, skipper, and let's get you into port." "Is this man a pilot, Ericson?" asked Captain Gordon, turning to me. "No," I said; "I believe he has not yet taken out his license. He started piloting two days since in opposition to my father." Kinlay scowled almost savagely at me for saying this. But I knew very well that he was not a fully qualified pilot, whatever he might become, now that my father was drowned. He lost much of his swaggering manner, however, and was very quiet when Captain Gordon ordered him off the ship. "Since that is so, then," said the captain, "you may leave this ship, and young Ericson will take us into the harbour. The lad may have no more claim to pilot us than yourself, but I doubt not he is quite as capable." Kinlay walked across the quarterdeck at this dismissal, but as he put one leg over the gangway to get down to his boat, he said in a hoarse voice, and with a sly leer in his dark eye: "I say, skipper, if ye're examined by the authorities, just say you gave every assistance--that ye hove ropes over--d'ye see? It's a very lamentable thing. But it was their own faults, their own faults." "What d'ye mean?" said the captain. "I did heave ropes over, and I need tell no lies about it. I gave more assistance than you did, ye blackguard." "Oh, very well, very well! I thought I'd just put you on your guard, d'ye see, in case you're examined." And so saying, Kinlay disappeared over the rail, and was soon sailing away, taking Thora with him. My sister Jessie had come aboard while Carver and the captain were altercating. She came up to the captain and in great distress asked him if he was sure no more could be done to find our father and the other men; at which he expressed his belief that it was impossible to do anything further. I must add that this was also my own impression, for I well knew that as the poor fellows had been unable to keep afloat until Kinlay came up to them, nothing could now save them from that terrible current. But already we could see that there were several boats out looking for the men. They could do more than we, for in the meantime the Lydia was herself running into some danger, drifting outward with the current. I spent no time in expressions of regret or lamentation over the calamity that had befallen the men of the Curlew; but, feeling that it was in some measure my duty to undertake the work my father had set out to perform, I told Captain Gordon the best course to take to cheat the tide, and gave him such advice as only a person acquainted with Hoy Sound could possibly give. Under these directions the barque was guided through the easiest channels into the smooth water inside the Holms, where the anchor was dropped and the vessel secured. Captain Gordon, who had been very kind to me during all this time, procured me a can of hot coffee to send away my chill. He then threw a warm pea jacket over my trembling shoulders, and came ashore with us in the small boat that Jessie and Thora had taken the use of. He also accompanied us to our home to break the sad news to our mother--a mission in which he showed a fine tenderness and sympathy of heart. Chapter XXII. After The Accident. The sad catastrophe in Hoy Sound cast a gloom over the little town of Stromness, where the unfortunate men had been held in great respect. By the fishers and sailors of the island Sandy Ericson had been regarded as a sort of chief. When any ship touched at the port it was his genial face that was first seen, and when they passed on their long voyages to distant lands it was he who gave the last word of farewell. Among the women he had been esteemed as an oracle, to whom they went for comfort in stormy weather when in doubt as to the fate of lovers or husbands at the fishing; and even the young children had learned to know his heavy stride, and to run into the street when he approached, that they might cling to his great, gentle hand and hear his kind, cheery voice. The accident had been seen by a large number of women who had gathered on the Lookout Hill, where they were wont to assemble in rough weather when watching for the return of the fishing smacks. When the Curlew was seen to capsize a loud shriek rent the air, for all knew that to be cast into that dreadful tideway meant almost certain death. The impulse of my sister Jessie and Thora to put out in a small boat that lay at the water's edge, on the possible chance of saving some of us, was, therefore, looked upon as a mad freak. But when the two girls were seen to rescue me from the upturned boat, they were praised for their promptitude. My own rescue, however, was much marvelled at. I had been known as a good swimmer; but that was not extraordinary in a place where swimming and cliff climbing were learnt before the alphabet. What was wondered at was that I had managed to keep afloat and swim so far when all the men had perished. When it was whispered about, therefore, that I was in possession of a magic stone which had the power of protecting me from the dangers of the deep, the credulous people readily grasped at the explanation of supernatural assistance, and thenceforth I was distinguished amongst them as one over whom Providence had cast a miraculous garment to protect me, as Earl Ewan was protected in the olden time. But if by the people of Stromness generally the calamity was lamented over, how much keener was the grief of those who had been bereft of husbands, fathers, brothers! All the men of the Curlew were married and had families, with the exception of my uncle Mansie. But in Mansie's death my mother had to mourn the loss of a brother in addition to the loss of her husband. In our house in the Anchor Close, where the crew had so often sat in readiness to put out the boat, all was now hushed, and the busy life of my mother and Jessie was suddenly checked and deprived of all hope, their domestic duties robbed of all meaning. My mother wandered about the house in melancholy, or sat before the fire expressing her woe in long-drawn sighs. Very often she walked down the jetty and looked out across the breezy bay, as though she expected to see the Curlew coming in, and then she would return with tears filling her eyes, and take up her knitting to hide her grief in work, forgetting for the moment that the stockings she was making were for him who would never, never wear them. As for myself, my life seemed empty of ambition, now that the Curlew was sunk and my father and the men had gone. I had learnt to hope that I might be a pilot some day; but where were my prospects now? That I must go out to some work was evident, but what was to be the nature of that work was left to more mature consideration, or to some happy chance or opportunity. In the meantime I was to remain away from school. There was no lack of sympathy for us on the part of our neighbours for many days after the accident. Mr. Moir, the minister, was among the first who called, bringing much comfort to my poor widowed mother; the schoolmaster also came, with great sorrow on his face, and many a good word he spoke of my father; while Captain Gordon visited us again and again so long as his ship lay in port. Chapter XXIII. Gray's Inn. About midway along the crooked, narrow street of Stromness stood the one house of entertainment of the port--Gray's Inn--where the wind-bound sailors and idle fishermen usually regaled themselves and spun yarns. The host, Oliver Gray, who was himself a retired seaman, had sought to attract his customers by hanging out over his front door a sign which was calculated to win the good opinion of all seafaring folk. It was a representation of a clipper in full sail on a raw green sea. Oliver took great pride in this picture, and it was commonly believed that he had had a hand in the painting of it. When it was praised he was profuse in his acknowledgments; but if a critical captain asked him how it was that, though the ship was sailing before the wind, yet her colours were all flying aft, or inquired whether it was grass or cabbages she sailed upon, Oliver was less eager to claim any artistic ability, and hurried the critic into the house lest he should also discover that the shrouds had been omitted by the painter. Gray's Inn was not an ordinary public house, and beyond the signboard announcement that "Spiritis and aile is retailed here" there was little to indicate its commercial character. The parlour was a large room with a window at each end--one facing the street, the other being so situated that the seamen sitting at the large centre table could look out at their ships riding at anchor across the bay. There was no counter or bar, and the liquor was brought "ben" by Oliver or his sonsie wife. One Saturday morning I had to go there to see old David Flett about a boat that Captain Gordon wanted to buy from him. I found him at the inn before me, sitting there with a goodly company of Stromness men and skippers, whose ships were, like the Lydia, undergoing repairs or waiting for fair winds. When I went in he was talking with a skipper whom he was evidently well acquainted with. This was Captain Wemyss of The Duncans, outward bound for Bombay. Wemyss had been lying in the harbour for over a week, and now that fair weather had come, and the wind was veering round to a favourable quarter, he was contemplating weighing anchor. His vessel was a full-rigged ship, the largest in the bay; and all the other skippers seemed to pay him a degree of respect equal to the size of his ship. They looked upon him with such deference, indeed, that not one of them would think of heaving anchor until he led the way. In the mornings, when they turned out, they never looked at the sky or the direction of the wind; they instinctively turned to The Duncans, and if the Blue Peter was not at her fore peak they made arrangements for spending still another day among the Orkneys. What in Wemyss tended to call forth a good deal of respect was that he seldom mixed with the other captains, but condescended to take only a single glass with a select few. I noticed that he preferred the company of Bailie Duke, or of Lloyd's agent, and other magnates of the town. Flett received me with a friendly welcome when I went into the inn, ordering a cup of coffee for me, and bidding me sit beside him until Captain Gordon should join us. He spoke of me to Captain Wemyss, and at that the whole company present fell to talking of the accident in the Sound. They were in the midst of a discussion as to the cause of the disaster when Captain Gordon entered, accompanied by Bailie Duke. Gordon was somewhat of a stranger to them all, so Captain Wemyss gave the names of the others, including Lloyd's agent, Captain Miller of the Albatross, and Captain Abernethy of the brig Enterprise, the last of whom, I may tell you, was the officer my father had described to Gordon as knowing so little of navigation that he had, after cruising out of sight of land for some months, mistaken the Mainland of Orkney for one of the West Indian Islands. Bailie Duke, whose happy face wore a constant smile, and whose bright eyes seemed ever to be asking questions, took his seat in the armchair, and passing his snuffbox round the company, very soon took the lead in the conversation. He was the chief magistrate of the town, but he did not assume any undue dignity on that account. Indeed, his long life among the simple fisher folk of Stromness, and his business connection with ships--for the bailie was a shipping agent--had given him a sympathy with all persons connected with the sea which quite overrode his dignity as a magistrate. He could talk of ships as learnedly as any of the captains, and of every vessel that had been in the harbour for the last twenty years he could tell the name and history whenever he saw her again. As for his knowledge of freights, duty, stability, and the ordinary affairs of shipping, he was the one man in Stromness whose word was taken above all others. When Bailie Duke was comfortably settled in his easy chair, and there was a lull in the noise of conversation, he turned to Captain Gordon and asked him to tell the company how he had come by the hurt in his head, and what sort of a time he had had in the recent storm. "Well, ye see," said Gordon, taking a glance round his hearers' faces, "it was a most unlucky affair from the first. I was warned before I left Stromness that my masts were too high, and in addition to the fear of losing them I was troubled by my men declaring that the ship was bewitched. We were overrun with mice, d'ye see. Well, I got a cat, a wild-like animal, from old Grace Drever here. Young Ericson brought the beast aboard, but what became of it I cannot exactly tell, for no man could find it, though we could often hear its wild squealing at night. "From the moment Pilot Ericson left us outside the Sound we encountered misfortune. We reached Cape Wrath after a struggle against contrary winds, and off the Butt of Lewis we lay to for two days. The men swore that the cat down the hold was possessed of some evil demon, and that we would never make any progress on the voyage unless we turned back and took the animal home. Well, we beat about until we sighted St. Kilda, where wet weather came on, and a gale from the west sprang up. We made no headway, and the island lay like an impassable rock on our beam for three days. The sea came rolling on from the west--great snow-topped mountains of waves--and the spray and the cutting sleet were hard to stand against. One night we shipped a heavy sea, which carried away our port bulwarks and stanchions and sent me into the lee scuppers, where I was stunned by a blow on the head. The same sea smashed the jolly boat. "I was insensible for a couple of days, and when I crept on deck again I found the other boat had been stove in. The fore and main topgallant masts were gone. I was standing on the quarterdeck, when, just at midnight, I was startled by a most unearthly caterwauling, as though all the furies in the infernal regions had broken loose. I looked in the direction it came from, and, behold! there stood the cat like a frightful apparition. He seemed four times his original size, and his eyes were like two gleaming fires. Even now I am not sure if it was the flesh-and-blood Baudrons or his ghost come to explain the mystery of his disappearance, and vent his displeasure at me for having taken him from his comfortable home. As I looked at the goblin cat my head reeled and I fell on the deck. "Next morning all was calm and bright; but we were disabled, and it was necessary to put back for repairs. You may think what you like, mates, but as sure as we're here, it was nothing but the cat that brought on the gale and gave me my ill luck; the worst calamity of all being the loss of the pilot and his crew." "Ay," said Bailie Duke, "but the cat had nothing to do with the loss of the pilots. Nobody can be blamed for that but Carver Kinlay." "No," added Oliver Gray, "a greater rascal than Carver never set foot in Orkney, nor a braver man than Ericson." "Well," said Captain Wemyss, "this Kinlay may do as he likes, but I for one will have no business with him." "Nor I neither," said Captains Johnson and Miller at once. "He's no proper pilot," said Gray, "and has no right to run a boat." "I'm afraid, gentlemen," put in Lloyd's agent with a tone of authority, "you're a wee bit too late in bringing forward your objections, for I'm informed that Kinlay has already taken out all necessary papers, and is now a duly certified pilot." "What!" exclaimed Abernethy. "I'd sooner employ young Ericson here than Kinlay; I'm sure the lad kens more about the coast." "I'd trust that lad to take my ship through any channel in Orkney," added Captain Gordon. "He brought us through on Sunday, and I never saw a pilot--except his father--handle a ship with greater skill." Mr. Gordon was speaking thus in my praise, when who should walk into the inn but Carver Kinlay himself. Carver had on a new suit of clothes of blue cloth, and his high boots, reaching above the knees, were newly polished with oil. At his waist he wore a leather belt from which was suspended a long sheath knife. He walked in with a jaunty air of self importance, but with a slightly unsteady gait, which showed how he had been celebrating his appointment. He approached Captain Wemyss, and addressed him. "Ye'll be weighing anchor on Monday morning, captain, I suppose? What time shall I come aboard?" "I never asked you to come aboard my ship, my man," said Captain Wemyss. "What is it you want?" "Why, d'ye not know I'm the pilot?" Captain Abernethy interrupted him, and drew him round by the shoulder to face the company, saying: "You'd not be the pilot if you hadna gotten the post by your crafty, sneaking, murderous villainy, Carver Kinlay. What business had you putting out to the Lydia on Sunday?" "What business is that of yours?" was the response. "Every one has business in a case like this," said Abernethy, "and I'll wager a thousand pounds if you hadn't gone out the accident wouldn't have happened. It was nothing else than the fear that you'd get aboard before them that made the men think of boarding the barque in such a hurry, and so far out. I knew the men well, poor fellows, and they were all decent men and good pilots, every one of them." While Abernethy was saying this, Kinlay was venting a torrent of oaths and words in disparagement of my father and his men. "You villain! you rascal!" continued the skipper, "if you say another word against Sandy Ericson I'll pitch you out at the window!" At the same time Bailie Duke stepped forward and said: "Now just hold your filthy tongue, Kinlay. You've been trying for years to do what you've done now. You've gotten your wish; what more do you want?" The bailie succeeded in quieting him, and Carver slunk off to a corner of the room. The company, after this interruption, dispersed, leaving only Captain Gordon, Kinlay, Captain Miller, and myself. No further words had been exchanged before a stalwart fisherman entered. I immediately recognized Jack Paterson. Jack was, as I have before said, a powerful man. He came in with a firm resolution in his step, and looked around the room. We watched him closely, for there was something strange in his look. On seeing Kinlay he walked straight up to him, laid a big hand on his shoulder--the hand that wanted a finger--and, without a word, dragged him to the middle of the room. Kinlay turned quickly round, and putting his hand on his sheath knife drew the weapon. Without hesitation Paterson stepped forward and dealt a tremendous blow with his fist on Carver's nose. "Ye ken what that's for--I needna tell ye," said Paterson; and Kinlay reeled over and fell upon the floor, while Jack Paterson walked quietly into the street. The explanation of this swift chastisement was this. There had that morning been a small indignation meeting of Stromness fishermen. They were all determined that Kinlay should see they had no sympathy with him, and the purpose of the meeting was to determine what form of vengeance they should employ. Their method was simply that which Jack Paterson had carried out, in boldly confronting Kinlay with closed fists; and when Jack's fellow fishermen heard what he had done their revenge was satisfied, and they returned to their daily duties with accustomed quietude, only agreeing in this, that thereafter Carver Kinlay was to be recognized as the common enemy of all true Orkney men; that he was not to be molested, but that none was to give him help in any way soever. Chapter XXIV. Carver Kinlay's Success. The Lydia was laid up for about a fortnight. A slight delay in completing her repairs was occasioned by the want of timber--a scarce commodity in Orkney, where there are no trees--but suitable material was procured from a homeward-bound ship. Captain Gordon never, in my hearing, referred directly to my sister Jessie's caution about the barque's masts; but I noticed that the new masts were made shorter and stouter than those that had suffered in the storm. There was also some difficulty in procuring new boats for the ship; but Captain Flett at last found a jolly boat, and one morning early I took it out to the Lydia. When I went below I found Mr. Gordon sitting over his breakfast with Marshall, his first mate. I remained talking with them for some time, when we were interrupted by one of the ship's boys, who came down with a note to the skipper. Captain Gordon read it with some show of consternation. "What can be the meaning of that, Marshall?" he asked, handing the piece of paper across the table to the mate. "Why, captain, I suppose you've been getting into some scrape ashore," said Marshall. "Scrape! I've been in no scrape," said Gordon, "unless, indeed, it be the accident last Sunday week." And he handed the note to me, asking if I could throw any light upon it. The note was from Bailie Duke, and it ran as follows: "Be in readiness. An officer from Kirkwall will be on board of you in a little with a summons.--Yours, &c., H. Duke." I had hardly finished reading it when a noise as of someone boarding was heard on deck, and presently Captain Miller of the Albatross came rushing down the cabin stairs. He was evidently newly out of his bunk for his face was unwashed, his hair uncombed, and his large overcoat was roughly thrown over his sleeping clothes. "What the mischief does this mean?" he exclaimed throwing a note on the table the facsimile of that which was puzzling Captain Gordon. The two skippers were forming surmises, and were at last consoling themselves that it was some playful trick of the bailie's, when Marshall whispered through the skylight that a boat with seven men in it was pulling towards the ship. "Show them down if they come aboard, then," ordered Gordon. And Captain Miller rushed into the pantry to hide, dreading something serious; for he had let it out to us that he had been "on the spree" the night before, and was not the quietest of the company of which he had been a member. He locked the pantry door as he heard footsteps on the companion ladder. Two men entered the cabin. One was a big seafaring man with a weatherbeaten face. The very appearance of his companion betrayed the fact that he was the "officer from Kirkwall." "Beautiful morning this!" observed the big man, addressing Captain Gordon. Then after a pause he added: "We have just come, captain, to ask the favour of your company with us to Kirkwall. The officer here has a summons for you, I believe, and also one for Captain Miller of the Albatross, who is not at present on his ship." Here a deep groan came from the direction of the pantry. "A summons!" echoed Gordon. "What--why--what d'ye mean? What have I been doing?" "Oh! my dear sir," returned the officer from Kirkwall, "you do not seem to understand the nature of the thing. You have done nothing at all, my dear sir. We only want you to come to Kirkwall as a witness in the case of assault--'Kinlay versus Paterson'--to be tried today at Kirkwall." "Oh! then, if that's all, I'm here," said Captain Miller, coming in from the pantry and adjusting his coat. "That is," said the man with the weatherbeaten face, supplementing the officer's explanation--"that is the case of the broken nose, captain. Now, we--that is, Mr. Watt and myself--have nothing to do with it, really and truly; but the matter is just this, we are anxious to clear off Jack Paterson, who is in our boat alongside with us--" Here the speaker was interrupted by the appearance of Captain Abernethy. "Come on, Gordon, old boy!" said he; "come along. I'm going to pay all expenses, every penny of them. I'm willing to sport a thousand pounds to clear Jack Paterson. Only to think of that scurvy rascal Kinlay bringing up Jack, and him with a wife and a whole crew of young children. Shall we allow it? No; not if I can help it. Come along!" Abernethy was generous, certainly. He had lately, as I heard, fallen heir to the sum of five hundred pounds sterling, and his willingness to "sport" his thousands on every important occasion was one of his chief characteristics at this period. "But how far is this place Kirkwall?" asked Captain Gordon. "How long will it take us to get there?" "How far! Oh! only a matter of a few hours' sail," said Abernethy. "I've got my pinnace out, and we'll have a fine jaunt. Come along!" "No. I've to see old Flett this morning to pay him some money. Besides, we're too many for the pinnace. Can we not go by road?" And Captain Gordon looked to me for an answer. "You can get Oliver Gray's pony and gig," I replied. "It's about fourteen miles by road." "Will you come with me, then, Halcro?" he asked. "Certainly; I'll be very glad. I know the way well." The two other skippers, with Mr. Watt and the rest, then made arrangements for their boating party, intending to sail round to Scapa, and thence walk across the little peninsula to Kirkwall. When Mr. Gordon had brushed himself up a bit, we went ashore together and found out Davie Flett, whose business occupied very little of the captain's time, and soon we were at the door of Oliver Gray's inn watching his Shetland pony being harnessed into the gig. "Now, Halcro, are you going to drive? Up you get," said Mr. Gordon. "Surely you dinna expect me to drive, Captain Gordon!" I exclaimed. "Why, I never held a pair of reins in my life!" "All right, my lad! get over to larboard there, and I'll see what we can do. You can be pilot and give your orders, and I'll take the helm. "Come along, Sheltie; off we go!" The weather was very fine, the roads in good condition, and the pony fresh, so that we looked for a very pleasant drive to the capital. We drove along the north road by Hamla Voe and past the green cornfields of Cairston, and then over the hill until the great loch of Stenness stretched before us, reflecting on its surface the dappled, woolly clouds. When we reached the Bridge of Waithe and turned westward, I asked my companion to slacken pace, for I had seen on the white road in advance of us two figures that were familiar to me. "Who are they, Halcro?" Mr. Gordon inquired; "two of your school friends, eh?" "Yes," I replied. "The lassie walking on the grass with the bare feet and carrying a green bag is Hilda Paterson--Jack Paterson's daughter." "Ay! Jack Paterson's girl, eh? Well, and the other one with the pretty hair, walking along here like a stately young princess, who is she?" We were already close to the two girls, however, and I hesitated to reply. He drew the reins, and I saw him regarding the elder girl with great interest. She raised her blue eyes as we stopped--eyes as blue and clear as the sky itself. Her fair hair hung in waves about her shoulders, and as her rosy lips were parted to say, "Good morning, Halcro!" they revealed a row of white and regular teeth. "Good morning, Thora!" I said in reply to the greeting she had given. "I hope your foot is mending," said she very gently. "Yes," said I; and Captain Gordon turned to me as though he wondered at my sudden shyness. Thora looked down at a daisy growing at her feet in the green turf, seeming to seek inspiration from its golden heart. Then she raised her eyes to me again and said softly--oh, so softly: "I'm real glad, Halcro, that ye werena drowned when the Curlew was wrecked." I was about to thank her for the part she had taken in my rescue when Captain Gordon interrupted. Said he: "If that sinner, Carver Kinlay, had had his own way Halcro would have been drowned like the rest." Thora's cheeks grew crimson. "It is my father you speak of, sir," she said very bravely; "and I hope what ye say isna true." "Your father! Carver Kinlay your father!" exclaimed the skipper incredulously. "Really, I beg your pardon, my girl." But already there was a tear in Thora's eye, and she turned to join Hilda Paterson, who had gone on in advance. And the two girls walked onward to school. "Well!" ejaculated the captain as he whipped up pony, "well, I should never have believed it!" "Believed what, Mr. Gordon?" I asked. "Why, that such a sweet young girl as that was the daughter of that villainous Carver Kinlay." "Ay! Thora's a bonnie lassie," I observed, with more feeling than I meant the words to convey; "and she's as good as bonnie." "My lad, thank Heaven that your lucky stone and your splendid swimming saved you from that dreadful Sound of Hoy." "I would rather they had saved my father, Mr. Gordon." "I've no doubt you would, Halcro; but I was thinking of something else. I was thinking that when you grow older, and when little Thora--as you name her--is a woman--" "Tuts! Mr. Gordon," said I, guessing what he would be at. "The Kinlays and the Ericsons will never be friends." Thereafter Captain Gordon became very quiet and thoughtful, and when again he spoke it was about my own sister Jessie. He asked me many a question concerning her; and if I turned from the subject to point out some object in the scenery that I thought would interest him, he was sure to lead me back in some way to talk of Jessie. We had now passed by the standing stones of Stenness, which my companion showed but little interest in, saying they were nothing compared with the Druid circle of Stonehenge, in England; and our way then lay along a straight uninteresting road past Finstown, and by the southern shores of the Bay of Firth, where the green holms of Damsay and Grimbister lay like floating gardens on the calm water. Soon the great red cathedral of St. Magnus loomed in sight above the antique houses of Kirkwall; and after our drive of fourteen miles we entered the old town and pulled up at the courthouse, where we met Abernethy and Miller and the rest who had been of the boating party. I took the pony and gig to the Falcon Inn, and left them there until the trial should be over. I was alone the rest of the morning, for such an important trial as that of "Kinlay versus Paterson" must be conducted in private, and only those who appeared as witnesses or in other capacities connected with the case were permitted to be present. But the time was not spent wearily, for I knew the town of Kirkwall very well, and there were many folks anxious to hear from me the full particulars of the fatality in Hoy Sound. Amongst these was old Colin Lothian, whose wanderings had brought him to Kirkwall. The old man sat with me on a stone seat in the shadow of the cathedral, and talked long of the accident and of my own blighted prospects, and at length of the trial that was now going on in the courthouse. I mentioned Thora, and said we had met her on the road in company with Hilda Paterson. Colin was fond of Thora, and talked of her with affection, notwithstanding his hatred of her father. "Ay, there again, there again, you see," said he. "What cares the lass though her father brings up Jack Paterson? It doesna make a bawbee's difference in Thora's liking for Jack's lass. Ah there's good in Thora. She's a right good girl, my lad, and I warrant she would do anything for them that are good wi' her." As we sat there Captain Gordon joined us sooner than I expected, and I asked him how they had settled the case. "Oh!" said he, "the trial hasn't begun yet; the humbug of a sheriff clerk has sent us away till three o'clock." "What like a man is the sheriff's clerk, sir?" asked Lothian. "I can't tell you that, my man, for we never saw him," replied the skipper. "He has a clerk, who has also a clerk, and this last one is the only one we saw. Why, the Governor of Jamaica has not so many functionaries." Until three o'clock Captain Gordon went about the town with me--to the cathedral, where he examined the old Norman arches, the dim old epitaphs, and other relics of antiquity contained within these ancient temple walls. There were many other sights of curious interest to the captain about Kirkwall; for here were the decayed palaces of earls, the halls of old sea kings, and thick-walled mansions of the lordly times--many of them degraded into hostelries and shops, but all of them showing something of the glories of old Orcadia. Thus we passed the time until three o'clock. In the evening, when I joined the Stromness party, I found Captain Abernethy exclaiming in indignant terms against the result of the trial. "I knew how it would go," he said; "but still I wanted just to show them what was what, ye see. Of course, it was as well they went through all the due forms. But only to think of Kinlay getting off so cleanly! I don't mind paying the fine, Jack--it has got you off going to jail--but, hang it, I don't like paying Kinlay's expenses." Kinlay had gained the case. Jack Paterson was fined fifteen shillings and costs, or a fortnight in Kirkwall jail. Abernethy had paid the fine on the spot. Carver, therefore, was throughout successful. Not only had he gained in the assault case, but in the matter of the piloting he was equally fortunate. He was permitted to carry on his business in the St. Magnus, and notices were posted up forthwith on the quays at Stromness to inform the inhabitants that Carver Kinlay of Crua Breck, in the parish of Sandwick, was a duly certified pilot of Pomona. Chapter XXV. A Family Removal. I was one evening walking over the heathery braes of Lyndardy, in the direction of Stromness, with my sister Jessie. The soft breeze from across the sea played with her brown hair, which was bound by the silken snood usually worn by the Orkney girls. A scarlet bootie shawl covered her shoulders. In her hand she carried a basket filled with kitchen vegetables from the farm. As we walked our attention was directed to a number of fishing boats putting out to sea, and to the slow and mournful song of the fishermen as they set out, with the creaking of their long oars keeping time to the music of their voices. Then the red mainsails were hoisted to catch the light breeze blowing over from the region of the setting sun, and we stood and watched the boats. But presently, as I looked further down the hillside where we were, I saw the figure of a man leaning upon a low stone wall. He was looking across to the wild headland of Hoy, where the red beetling cliffs reflected the sunlight. "Jessie," I said, "is that Captain Gordon standing down there?" Jessie turned her eyes in the direction I pointed, and her cheeks were flushed with the red light that fell upon them. "Oh, Halcro!" she exclaimed, "I've forgotten to bring the butter. We must go back to the farm." "Never mind, Jessie; I'll run back for it," I said, though I would have been glad to see the captain again. She, however, made no objection, but let me go back to Lyndardy, while she continued her way towards Stromness. I had been gone something like a half hour, and as I was returning, walking briskly over the heathery braes and skipping across the rippling burns, down the hillside in front of me I saw Jessie standing with Captain Gordon, and his arm was round her waist. I stopped suddenly, wondering if I should proceed further and interrupt them. And now I understood how it was that Jessie had forgotten the butter, and how she had so calmly agreed to my going back to the farm. I seemed also to understand how it was that Captain Gordon had spoken so much about my sister during our drive to Kirkwall. And with these explanations in my mind I took my way homeward by a roundabout path along the cliffs, and so passed unobserved, reaching Stromness just in time to see Jessie and the captain parting at the end of the town. On the following day the Lydia set sail. It pained us to see the vessel taken out of port by Carver Kinlay; but when she had rounded the Ness, Jessie and I went up to the head of the cliffs and watched the white sails over the sea, until they became a mere speck on the far horizon. Then, as we were coming back, and I remarked the tears in Jessie's eyes, I learned what I had already partly guessed--that Captain Gordon had asked my sister to be his wife. Hard was the struggle that we had at home, after the first weeks of mourning and grief that followed the loss of my father and uncle. We had now no regular source of income, beyond the few shillings every week that my mother and sister earned by the straw-plaiting industry. This was work that was common in Orkney at that time; but the English hat manufacturers, for whom the straw was plaited, were not always liberal in their payments, nor prompt; and it was only by very hard work that these few shillings could be earned. My father had been thrifty, and had saved some little money; but when we came to calculate the full measure of our resources, we discovered that several alterations would have to be made in our mode of living. Not the least important of these changes was the necessity of an early removal to Lyndardy. Lyndardy farm had been leased conjointly by my father and my uncle Mansie; and when there was no occasion for them to be out in the boat, the two men were in the habit of working together in the fields, as most of our neighbours worked. It was from Lyndardy that we were supplied with all our oatmeal, our eggs, cheese, butter, and vegetables. Fresh fish we could always procure in abundance from the sea and the lochs, and I was able sometimes to add to the general stock of provisions by the aid of my gun. The feathers and oil from the wild sea fowl I shot were sold or bartered for other commodities; and the wool of the few sheep we kept, and the flax we grew, were helpful in supplying us with clothing and other necessaries. It was not long after my father had "gone before" that we removed from the old house in the Anchor Close. Much of our familiar furniture was sold. My boat, too, was disposed of. Many a heart pang it cost us to leave the home at the waterside, but we all took kindly to the new life at the farm and its various duties. Jessie soon became skilled in the work of attending to the cows; and as for myself, I readily learned how to mend a gate, to dig potatoes, to look after the sheep, and even to follow the plough. Thus I busied myself until, in after-time, I was able to take to the sea. When the warm weather came round, the boys and girls of Andrew Drever's school were dismissed for their holidays. Sometimes, when I saw some of them passing along the cliffs with their climbing ropes over their arms, I confess I felt some twinge of regret that I was no longer a schoolboy, and that my duties on the farm no longer permitted me to join in the pleasures of a bird-catching expedition. My fowling piece was now hung up in the barn, and few were my opportunities of taking it down. What sport it would have afforded me had I been still a schoolboy! On a certain fine morning, soon after the holidays commenced, I was very busily employed at the work of helping in our sheep shearing--not that I myself ventured to handle the shears; my part in the business was simply to carry the wool into the loft, and to assist in bringing out the sheep from the pens as the shearers required them. My mother, who had been born and brought up on Lyndardy farm, was, however, an expert hand at sheep-shearing, and I believe there was no other woman in the whole parish of Stromness who could do the work with such speed and neatness. I was admiring the skill with which she stripped a sheep of its fleece, and standing near her at the same time, with a black-faced ewe between my knees, ready to pass the animal to her when she was ready for it. Letting the shorn ewe escape, she stood up and looked over the moorland in the direction of Stromness. "Hullo! here's some stranger coming up the brae," she said, shading her eyes with her hand. "Who in the world can it be, Halcro? Surely it's not the dominie?" But the dominie it was. He came up to where we were at work, and sat upon a heathery knoll near my mother, with whom he engaged in some ordinary gossip. "But," said he, after a while, "it was Halcro himself that I came up to see." "Me!" I said. "What can ye want to see me about, Mr. Drever?" "To tell you that I'm to gang to Edinburgh," he replied. "To Edinburgh!" I exclaimed, wondering what his mission could be. "Ay, Halcro, I'm to be there for a few weeks, partly on pleasure and partly on business, concerning our auld friend Jarl Haffling. The museum folk there are anxious to have the viking's treasure, and I hae gotten permission to deal wi' them in the matter. I dinna ken what money they will gie me for the things; but, ye see, whatever it be, Halcro, a third part of it will come to Hercus and Rosson and yersel', to be divided among ye. Do ye agree to that? Will ye trust me to transact the business for ye?" "Oh, certainly, sir. But surely it's ower muckle trouble to put you to?" I said. "Trouble! Dinna think o' trouble, lad. Why, these auld coins and things hae been mair pleasure to me than I can tell; for, look ye, all the time I hae had the keeping o' them, I hae been studying them; and--and, Halcro, I hae even written a little book about Jarl Haffling's grave, and I shouldna be surprised though that book be printed. Think o' that, lad! A book written by your ain dominie printed! Nay, nay, Halcro, dinna speak o' trouble." "And what is being done about Tom Kinlay, sir?" I asked. "Weel, as to that, ye see, the lad has broken the law by appropriating his part o' the treasure, and selling it. I can do nothing mysel', beyond stating the nature o' his offence. The law must tak' the matter into its own hands. Beyond a doubt it will do so; and ye'll see, Halcro, that it was far better for you and the other two lads to put the viking's treasure into my hands, instead o' makin' fools o' yersels as Tom Kinlay has done." "I am sure, sir, I am perfectly satisfied," I said. "And now, Mr. Drever, I suppose you will wish me to give up my magic stone? Must it go to Edinburgh with the rest?" "The talisman? Weel, I hadna thought that. Ye see, it isna worth muckle. No, I think ye needna send it now. But keep it wi' care, dinna lose it, just in case it is wanted. Of course I hae written about it in the book, and it may be claimed; but keep it for the present, Halcro." The schoolmaster left me to continue my work, and three days afterwards I heard that he had started for Edinburgh in a trading sloop that plied between Kirkwall and Leith. He was absent in Scotland for nearly two months, and when he returned I received a message from him asking me to bring Willie Hercus and Robbie Rosson down to the schoolhouse on a particular evening. He welcomed us with much affection, and during tea he related to us many of his experiences in Edinburgh. But his chief reason for having us with him on that evening was, as he said, to give us an account of his stewardship in regard to the viking's treasure. He had had several interviews with the authorities of the Antiquarian Museum, with whom he had finally left the curiosities, receiving in return a due share of money to be delivered in equal portions to the three of us. I believe that the Jarl Haffling's treasures may be seen to this day in the Antiquarian Museum of Edinburgh; but I have seen only the catalogue, in which the curiosities are enumerated and described as having been found by some boys playing on the shore of Skaill Bay, Orkney. Be that as it may, the money brought back by Mr. Drever--which was greatly in excess of our expectations, and allowed to each of us a share much larger than Tom Kinlay had received from old Isaac--came as a great help not only to my mother, but also to the widow of Tom Hercus, to say nothing of Mrs. Rosson, whose rent had fallen so far in arrear that she had been threatened with an eviction from her cottage, and was only saved by this timely assistance. Chapter XXVI. A Subterranean Adventure. It was little that I saw of my old school companions now that I had become a farm worker and spent my days in the fields. Sometimes, indeed, when I was tending my nibbling flock on the hillside, or driving them over to the distant pasture land by the margin of the loch of Harray, where the grass grew sweetest, I would chance to see Thora Kinlay on her way from Crua Breck to Stromness, and occasionally she would come to Lyndardy to see my sister Jessie. These were the summer days; but when the harvest season came round, and our crop of oats had to be gathered in, and, later still, our turnips stored away for the winter, I was then always busy with my work, and very seldom had opportunity of speaking with Thora, or of even seeing her from a distance. And yet I had often a wish to be near her, and to show her what kindness or sympathy a lad can show to a girl whom he believes to have but little happiness in life. For the treatment that Thora received at her home was becoming day by day more severe. With Tom she of course had no pursuits in common; he treated her with harshness, and as much as possible she avoided him. Even Mrs. Kinlay seemed to regard her with very scant affection, and as the girl grew in years her position at the farm became that of a servant rather than of a daughter. As for Carver Kinlay himself, he seldom spoke a gentle word to body or beast, and Thora had no exception from his severity. His continued ill treatment of her was, however, the more difficult to endure, since from simple abuse it often extended to actual brutality. She could never understand why her father and mother were so unkind to her, and to hear a few words of sympathy was always comforting. One day late in the autumn I was tending our sheep on the banks above the cliffs of Gaulton, lying on the soft green turf with my hands under my chin, looking dreamily across the sea towards the blue outline of hills on the Scotch coast. I had just finished reading the last pages of Robinson Crusoe, and the book had fallen from my hand. Like my sheep, I was languid with the heat of the noonday sun, and the sight of the ships and the whirling seagulls was refreshing to me. The sound of the waves down below on the rocks was soothing. Presently something dropped lightly on the grass before my eyes. It was a sprig of sweetbrier. I turned lazily and saw Thora standing by my side. Without speaking a word she sat down, and together we looked out upon the blue sea. We remained silent for several moments without greeting each other. But at last I said: "I was thinking maybe you'd be coming across to see me, Thora, one o' these bonnie days, now that we never meet at the school. It was good o' ye to come." She turned to me with a smile, but I saw that her eyes were moistened with tears. "What has gone wrong, Thora?" I continued. "Has Carver been ill using you again?" "Yes, he's aye using me ill," she said, sobbing and wiping her eyes. "I was in the garden just now, nipping some dead leaves from the briar bush, when he came in at the gate. He never likes to see me among my flowers, and when he found me there he got into a passion, and walked over the beds, and kicked the plants about with his sea boots. Then he ordered me away into the house, and said that if I wanted work to do, I might go and clean out the stable. I told him that was a man's work, not a lassie's; and at that he took up a stick, and struck me with it across the back." And here she sobbed again. I did not speak, but I felt my blood run hot in indignation against Carver Kinlay. I would have liked to thrash him. "If I were a lad like you, Halcro," she continued, "it's not long I would bide at Crua Breck. I would run away to sea. But what can a helpless lassie do? Nobody has a good word to say for my father since the Curlew was lost, and--I canna help it--I hae just as great an ill will at him as anybody else has." "They say that it was all through Carver that my father was drowned," I said. "Tell me, Halcro, what was the quarrel between your father and mine? What way did it come about?" "Well, I canna tell ye the ins and outs o' it all, but my father had some secret about Carver, and Carver was aye afraid o' him. You see, Thora, folks say that when a man saves another from the sea, there's sure to be a quarrel between them. And my father saved Carver Kinlay--not, perhaps, from the sea, but he saved his life." "How was that, Halcro?" "It was when you were a bairn, Thora. A ship was wrecked here on the Gaulton rocks, and all your family were aboard. Your mother and Tom were picked up by the Curlew, but Carver and you werena found for some days after the wreck. My father found you both in a cave, down in the cliff, and if it hadna been for him, I suppose you wouldna be here now, Thora, to say that Carver had beaten you." "That's a strange thing you're telling me, Halcro. I never heard of it before. And what ship was it that was wrecked?" "The Undine." "The Undine! I've seen that name on a box at Crua Breck that father keeps his money in. But tell me all about it. Did Captain Ericson tell you about the wreck?" "No. I only heard of it a week before he was drowned. It was Colin Lothian and my uncle Mansie that told it me. Auld Colin kens all about it, and more than he told to me." "Colin is a good old man, Halcro. When next I see him I will ask him to tell me what it was that he kept from you. Colin would keep nothing from me, I believe." "Maybe not. But listen, and I will give you the story as I heard it." Thora lay down on the grass, with her hands under her chin, and I proceeded to tell her of the wreck of the Undine. "Thank you, Halcro!" she said when I finished. "That is all very new to me. I remember nothing of being in that cave. How cold I must have been! But Carver was good to me then. I can almost forgive him for trampling over my flowers." Then, after a pause, she asked: "Have you ever been in that cave, Halcro? Where is it?" "I've not been in it," I said; "but I ken whereabout it is. Come and I will show you." And then I took her out to an abutting point of the headland, and indicated the position of the cavern behind a great rock that hid its entrance, a few feet above the high-tide mark. "Halcro, d'you think we could get down there and see the cave?" she asked. "Where are your climbing ropes?" "We can manage it, I think, if you'll try it with me, Thora," I said. "Ay will I try it. Do you think I'm afraid?" said she. Now, this adventure that Thora proposed was no small one, for the North Gaulton cliffs are amongst the wildest and most rugged in all Pomona, and they are very steep and dangerous to the climber. Yet Thora was a cool-headed girl, strong of foot and wrist, and very adventurous. I remember on one occasion, when several of us were bird nesting together on the Black Craigs, she happened to get stranded on a corner of rock, and could not either return or get round the projecting point. I was watching her, and saw that she had the wrong foot foremost. Her position was extremely dangerous, for one false move would have sent her headlong to a frightful death. But, holding on with one hand, she coolly took a piece of oatcake from her pocket, and munched it. Then with a dexterous movement she changed her position, got safely round the point, and went onward. "Why, Thora, were you not feared for yoursel?" I asked, when I got near her again. "If I'd been feared, Halcro, I wouldna be here now," she quietly replied. "I daresay that; but what made ye think of eatin' the bannock when ye were in such danger?" And, said she, "Weel, I just thought I was needing it." But with all Thora's daring I was too sensible of the dangers of the Gaulton Craigs to allow her to make the descent of an unfamiliar precipice without climbing ropes, and when we had determined to explore the cave, I ran home for my lines and an old piece of tar rope to use as a torch in case we should require a light. Thora was anxious about my sheep possibly straying in my absence, but I had a certain confidence in my flock, and assured her that as I had never known them to stray, there was little danger of them doing so now, especially as I had no dog to drive them over the banks. We accordingly left the sheep grazing or sleeping contentedly on the open braes, and proceeded on our adventure. One end of the rope was firmly secured round a jut of rock, so that the other extremity, when it was thrown over the brink, would fall as near as possible to the mouth of the cavern. I went down some distance to see that all was right and easy, and then we made the descent together. Neither of us made much use of the rope, but it was there for Thora to take hold of if she should find that she could not get secure hold on the jags of rock for her feet and hands; and I kept close to her to aid her if need were. A stranger in Orkney might have marvelled to see us, a lad and lass, climbing with such ease about the face of a precipice of nearly two hundred feet in height above the turbulent sea; but the thing was simple enough to our practised hands and feet, and the regular layers and shelves of the old red sandstone afforded for the most part secure resting places. As we got further down, the disturbed sea birds fluttered and screamed around our heads, the boldest even offering to peck at our hands, but fearing to do so for all the clatter they made about it. Once a great gray brent goose, with black head and staring eyes, approached Thora with a loud, harsh cry, and flapped its wide, outstretched wings against her. Thora took hold of the rope tightly with both hands, and placing her feet on a narrow ledge of rock, looked round and uttered a shrill, "Tr-r-r-r," frightening the bird away. When we got safely down to within a couple of fathoms of the surface of the clear water, we left the rope and made our way along a strip of flaggy gneiss, until we reached an immense boulder which had been detached from the main cliff. This great rock lay before the cavern in a way that, as we found, not only hid the entrance from view, but also--except, I suppose, in very stormy weather--prevented the sea from flowing in. I crept behind this barrier, holding Thora's hand, and we were soon at the mouth of the cave. A slanting ray of sunshine found its way within, illumining the great vaulted roof and the dripping stalactites, that looked like giant icicles hanging above us. We were able to walk or scramble over the rocks and shingle for a considerable distance. When we passed into a part of the grotto where the darkness deepened, however, Thora began to show signs of timidity. She spoke of having heard about many an Orcadian who, in attempting to reach the innermost recesses of such caverns, had been taken possession of by the evil spirits that were commonly believed to inhabit these places; and the strangely-echoing sounds we heard were exaggerated in her imagination, and became to her as the weird voices of kelpies and water nymphs. I endeavoured to allay her fears as I proceeded to strike a light, and reminded her of the magic stone that I had hanging at my neck; but still she was reluctant to go further. "Take you the stone yourself then, Thora, if you're afraid," I said, as I took the cord from my neck. "It will keep you from danger." And I looped the cord over her head. Now Thora had an implicit faith in the virtues of that little stone, and when she felt it resting on her throat her fears were at once conquered. It took some trouble to light our torch, but with the help of some wool from my cap as tinder I set to work with flint and steel, and at last we got the tar rope in a blaze. Thora took the torch in hand and picked her way over the rocky floor, exploring every nook and cranny of the cave. So rapidly did she skip from stone to stone and climb over the intervening boulders, that I frequently found it difficult to keep up with her. We tried to find some traces of the wreck of the Undine, or of anyone having lived there, but we found nothing beyond a great heap of oyster shells that had been thrown into one corner. But Carver Kinlay might very well have existed comfortably in this immense place, for, besides the dried fish that he was said to have found among the wreckage, there was a fine bed of oysters within easy reach of the entrance to the cave, and these shellfish are good enough eating, I believe. How he managed to keep Thora alive for so long without other food was, however, a thing I could with difficulty understand, unless she fed upon the sea-birds' eggs. Thora, herself, remembered nothing of having been in the cave before, but she was very anxious to reach its furthest limits, and, trusting to me to follow her, she went fearlessly onward. Sometimes she would stoop to lift a stone, and would throw it in front of her to discover if there was a clear passage, for the light burned but dimly. Once when she did so the stone fell upon something that gave a peculiar hollow sound, as though some wooden box or barrel had been struck. I took little notice of this, for I was at the moment groping my way into a side chamber of the cave. I was feeling my way back towards the torch, when Thora called me to her as though she had made some new discovery. But as I hurried in the direction whence her voice sounded, I was startled by a loud and piercing scream which filled the cavern and re-echoed through the empty corridors. For a moment I fancied it was the shrieking of some monster inhabitant of the cave and was about to beat a retreat when I heard my name called again. "Halcro! Halcro! Help! help!" And then the whole place was in utter darkness, and I heard nothing but the dying echoes, and a strange purling of running water. I made my way as speedily as I could to where I had last seen the lighted torch, and as I got further and further into the cave, the sound of running water grew more distinct, until I heard it just at my feet. It was not the singing ripple of a shallow rivulet, but the sonorous sound of a deep stream that, so far as I could make out, ran athwart the cavern. I went down on my knees and put my hand in the water to feel which direction it took, for I did not now doubt that my companion had fallen in, and was even now struggling somewhere in the dark water that was rushing past me. My first impulse was to throw myself into the stream and swim about until I found her, but this I considered would be vain, and I tried to first find where she was by getting her if possible to answer me. I called her several times by name, at the same time following, as well as I could in the darkness, the direction taken by the current. Oh, how I wished we had brought two torches instead of only the one that was now lost! As I crawled about from rock to rock, guiding myself by the indistinct sounds I heard, I blamed myself for not having listened to Thora's words of expressed fear at the opening of the cave. That she had the viking's stone in her possession was a matter of small comfort to me when I seriously reflected upon the extreme danger of the situation, and I feared that, in spite of the supernatural aid, she might even now be drowned, and that I would never again see her fair face in life. But I was determined not to leave the cave until I had found her, and, accordingly, I continued the search with growing consternation. No response came to my constant cries of "Thora! Thora!" and I wandered hither and thither in the difficult darkness for what appeared to me fully an hour's time. I became hopeless, and even thought of trying to find my own way out of the cavern, that I might summon help from Crua Breck. But still I was urged by some inward feeling to go onward yet a little further. Passing at length round an abutting angle of ragged wall, I entered what appeared to be the extreme chamber of the cavern; and here my eyes were for a moment dazzled by the appearance of a bright though thin beam of golden sunlight, which shone from the west through a narrow fissure in the rock, and glittered upon the unruffled surface of a large and deep pool of water. With renewed hope I again called Thora; but not far from where I was standing the water curled in a cascade over its rocky bed, so to continue its subterranean course into the sea, and the noise it made in falling rendered my voice inaudible. The sight of that dark water gliding smoothly to the edge of rock, and there tumbling over into greater depths, seemed to tell me only too plainly what Thora's fate had been. I now began to despair of being able to escape into the outer air before the night came on; the changing hues of the stream of light that entered the cave already indicated the setting of the sun. But by the welcome help of such light as remained I carefully surveyed the chamber in which I stood. Just as I was giving a last look round, I observed a slight movement on the opposite edge of the stream. One hurried glance was enough, for there, not a dozen yards from me, was Thora, clinging with clasped hands to a large piece of rock, her long, fair hair touched by the fading crimson light and dangling in the stream, that rapidly passed her as though it would sweep her with it to some unknown destiny. She seemed totally unconscious of all that was going on around her, and I saw that her exhausted strength could not long sustain her in her perilous position. Even as I was thinking how best to reach her, I saw her hands suddenly relax their hold upon the rock, and her helpless form floated slowly with the current towards the dark abyss beyond. Without hesitation I plunged into the stream. A few strong strokes brought me to her side, and with one hand I firmly grasped her by the arm. Another second and we both would have been carried over the cataract, but the sense of our imminent danger gave me courage, and with a great effort of strength I swam with my burden to the side of the stream from which I had plunged, and eagerly clung to the rock until my strength was renewed. It was with considerable difficulty that I at last managed to raise myself and the girl from the water, and place her unconscious form upon a flat slab of rock. And now I endeavoured with such simple skill as I could command to restore her exhausted animation. This was a task I was little fitted for; but just as the last faint ray of light died away and left the cavern in darkness, I had the satisfaction of hearing her draw a deep breath and then utter my name. I found it no easy thing to carry her in my arms to the mouth of the cave, and many halts did I make by the way, trying to discover the light that should tell me that our peril was over. Before we had gone very far, however, she was conscious enough to help me in some sort, and by our united efforts we at length got so far on our right way as to come in sight of the light of day, and thereafter our journey was easy. The evening breeze that met us revived my companion considerably, and she was able to stand up and thank me in her girlish way for delivering her from her dangerous plight. When she was sufficiently recovered to speak, she told me how it was she had fallen into the water. She had found a large tarpaulin spread out as though it covered some hidden boxes, and, calling to me, she had tried to raise the tarpaulin to look beneath it. But in standing up to do so she unfortunately missed her foothold on the slippery rock, and falling backward was plunged into the stream; and this was all that she knew, except that being swept along by the water and struggling to keep afloat she happened to touch a rock at the side, and had there held on until, as she had expected, I was able to help her. Having thus far got out of the cave, there remained yet the difficulty of climbing up the cliff in the twilight. If I could get Thora as far as the rope, I felt that the rest would be comparatively easy. But she was very weak and cold, and I feared for the result. Fortunately, the shelf of rock along which we had to pass was sufficiently wide for us to walk along by clinging to the cliff. This was done with great care, and when the rope was reached I bound it several times round her waist and secured it firmly under her arms. Being assured that she was then quite safe in her position, I took hold of the higher part of the climbing line and with its assistance scaled the crag. When I reached the top I gave Thora the signal, and by hauling the rope up with all my strength I helped her to ascend. It was a long time ere I felt sure that she was safe, but at last I heard her call out that she was all right, and I stretched my hand down to her. She took hold of it, and I assisted her until she stepped once more upon the soft turf, and then, still holding her hand, I led her home, deeply thankful that our adventure had ended without fatality. Chapter XXVII. A Family Misfortune. I must now tell you what happened on that afternoon while I was away from my sheep, neglecting my work, and seeking useless adventure in the North Gaulton cave. But I must go back to record a conversation that took place at Lyndardy on that same morning, so that you may understand the gravity of the misfortune which was the result of my neglect. We were sitting over our early breakfast, my mother, Jessie, and I, discussing the family resources for the coming winter--a subject that had given us much anxiety since the death of my father and uncle. Our concern was intensified by the fact that our harvest had not turned out so fruitful as had been anticipated; for the oats were light in the grain and the potatoes diseased; and the expenses incurred for repairs and improvements on the farm, had well-nigh exhausted the ready money that had been left by my father or procured by the sale of the small boat and various articles of furniture from the old home. To make matters worse--and this it was that suggested the discussion--Jessie had been down in Stromness on the previous evening, and there ascertained that the price paid for straw-plaiting, which was never very high, was to be greatly reduced. "I'm sure we're ill enough off already without them cutting us down at such a rate," said my mother, as she took a sip of tea from her saucer. "If it had not been for what the dominie brought from Edinburgh for Hal's silver, we'd have been most hard pressed this while back. But what we're to do when the winter comes round, I dinna ken. It's certain we'll not have meal enough to serve us; and there's the rent to pay, and clothes to get, and nothing coming in at all." "Well, mother," said Jessie, "dinna take on so ill about it. We're not more hard pressed than our neighbours. Look at Janet Ross with all her bairns, and her rent owing for three terms; and auld Betty Matthew, at the Croft, who hasna a penny forbye what she gets at the kelp burning. We have our two bonnie cows, and a score of good sheep, and all our hens." "We have all that," replied my mother. "But I'm thinking the sheep must be sold at Martinmas, or we'll not have much of a living for winter." "Then, if you sell the sheep, Halcro will need to go to the fishing," said Jessie. "He'll need to get work somewhere. The lad canna aye be idle; and there's nothing but the fishing for him, I doubt, if he doesna gang to the piloting with Carver Kinlay." "No, not that," I said. "I'd rather burn kelp than have anything to do with him." So it was agreed that our sheep were to be sold, and that I must find work of some sort whereby to help the family. Now, in the afternoon, when they found I did not come back to tea, they surmised that I had already gone to look for employment at Kirkwall, and they waited impatiently for my return. After tea my mother went to the byre to attend to the cows, and Jessie stood for a long time at the door looking out for me. Seeing no sign of me, nor of the sheep, she walked in the direction of the North Hill, there to get a wider prospect. She looked towards every likely quarter, but the last place she thought of looking at was Kinlay's clover field. There were some sheep grazing there, but Jessie never imagined that they were the sheep of Lyndardy; for what should take them into that forbidden pasture? And yet their number was remarkable. Yes, there were our twenty sheep, with our big cheviot in their midst, coolly enjoying themselves in the fine clover grass that Carver was jealously reserving for the benefit of his own ewes. Without waiting to explain to herself the meaning of what she saw, or the reason of my being away from the sheep, Jessie hastened towards the clover field. As she approached, however, something occurred that made her run with all speed. Suddenly there was a commotion among the sheep and a noisy barking, for in their midst was Tom Kinlay with his great retriever dog. He chased the sheep into a corner of the enclosure, and proceeded to belabour them with a heavy stick. The cheviot, however, bolder than Tom had supposed, turned at bay, made a heavy rush at him, and butting him aside bounded over the low wall, followed by all the flock. Tom was soon on his feet, and with his dog he gave chase. One of the small Shetland ewes was overtaken, and disabled by a knock on the head. The other animals, led by the cheviot, were running madly towards the cliffs when Jessie, arriving on the scene, attempted to intercept them. But the dog was fleet of foot, and, encouraged by Tom's cries of "After them, good dog, after them!" continued the pursuit with high enjoyment. The cheviot, with the stupidity of its kind, saw not the danger to which it was hastening. Panic stricken, it rushed towards a part of the cliffs known as the Lyre Geo, and no efforts of Jessie could divert its onward career. When Kinlay became conscious of what he had done he called back his dog. But as he watched the sheep bounding and leaping on in their mad course his apprehensions gave place to merriment; and when the cheviot, with a high spring into the air, went headlong over the precipice, followed by the smaller sheep, he burst forth into a fit of laughter loud and uncontrolled. "You great brute, Tom Kinlay!" exclaimed Jessie indignantly; "if Halcro had been here you would not have done this cruel thing." "Well," said Tom, "what for did the sheep go into our field, eating up all the clover? Halcro should have been minding them. It serves you right that the sheep have gone over the bank." This, and more that I know not of, was said between them. But Jessie wasted no time in dispute. Her concern for the poor sheep was too great for idle discussion. "Come away," she demanded, "and help to get the poor beasts from the water." "Get the sheep from the water yourself," returned Tom stubbornly; and whistling to his dog he went homeward as though nothing unusual had happened. On looking over the brink of the cliff Jessie found that it would be useless to attempt without assistance to recover any of the sheep. Two of them she saw floating out to sea, several of them lay apparently dead far down on the rocks. One had fallen on a projecting part of the cliff, and others, instead of jumping over the edge, had run down a narrow pathway, and, though not injured, stood in danger from the fact that they could neither proceed nor turn back without falling. Near as she was to Crua Breck, however, Jessie would not go thither to seek the help she needed. Hurrying towards the croft of Mouseland she saw two men at work in one of the fields, and they readily laid down their spades and, after procuring a long rope, went back with her to the Lyre Geo. Before sunset they were able to recover the bodies of the animals that had fallen among the rocks, as well as to rescue the sheep that were still alive. This had all taken place before Thora and I had come up from the Gaulton Cave; and as we turned from the head of the cliff to go home a cart was passing along the moor conveying the dead and injured sheep to Lyndardy--the sheep which only a few hours before we had all so hopefully counted upon selling at Martinmas. Sadly did we contemplate the poor remnant of the flock, and guilty did I feel for having left the sheep unattended. At first my mother blamed me sorely for what I had done; but when we talked the matter over it seemed not so much my own fault in leaving the sheep (for that had been done many a time before), but Kinlay's neglect in leaving open the gate of the clover field, and Tom's inhuman conduct in driving the sheep over the cliff. I do not know how it fared with Thora when she reached Crua Breck, but I was not long in doubt as to the result of her immersion in the underground stream. The next morning I heard by accident that she was ill in bed. For many long weeks she lay weary and helpless, and it took all the skill of Dr. Linklater of Stromness to bring her round to health again. During this time I heard nothing of her, and much did I fear that her illness was very serious. One thing that consoled me, however, was the thought that she had the viking's talisman in her keeping, for in the excitement of seeing the cart passing with the dead sheep, I had entirely forgotten to ask her for the return of the stone, and she went into the house with it still suspended from her neck. I was confident that she would keep it in safety, and while she had it in her possession I felt that her recovery to health was assured. Chapter XXVIII. Captain Flett Of The "Falcon." The unfortunate occurrence which deprived us of our little flock of sheep brought an increase of sorrow and hardship to our family, whose resources had already been so greatly impoverished; and when the gloomy winter days came on, with their biting frosts and keen cold winds, the prospects at Lyndardy grew as dull as the leaden clouds that hung in the sky. Our mother's woeful sighs were painful to my ears, while I felt how helpless I was to soften her sorrows. Sometimes, when I saw the tears in her eyes, I would silently wish for her sake that I was older and could do more towards filling my father's place. But work of the kind I was fitted for was scarce in Orkney. Had I been able to choose for myself I should have been, like my father, a pilot. But the chain of circumstances which had made this the vocation of my family for three generations was now broken. Carver Kinlay and his crew were having things all their own way, and in the meantime I was doing that most trying of all work--waiting and hoping for what seemed to become every day less probable. But I did not pass my hours in idleness. Whenever an outward-bound ship came into the harbour I sought her captain, and asked for a berth aboard. Sometimes I would even walk as far as Kirkwall to see if in that port I could get what was so difficult to procure in Stromness. One cold, wintry day, when the wind was blowing strong and cutting from the north, I found myself in Kirkwall. Walking along the wharf, looking down upon the decks of the vessels that lay against the old stone quay--brigs, barques, and schooners, some of them bound foreign, but most of them from Scotland--I came to a little coasting schooner that I had often seen in the harbour of Stromness. She was named the Falcon. I was looking down at the green copper plating near her cutwater, when I heard a gruff but cheery voice calling out: "Hullo! there, young Ericson! Are ye not coming aboard, lad?" "Hello, Davie!" I responded, jumping down upon the deck. "Here's a cold day for ye, eh?" He was a little, thick-set man, with a rippled, weatherbeaten face. He wore a dirty, red, knitted cap, from which escaped a few curls of iron-gray hair. A short pea jacket was closely buttoned over his chest, and a pair of immense sea boots reached high above his knees. This was David Flett, the same jovial old mariner who, it will be remembered, warned me against the Jew on Stromness quay. He removed a short black pipe from his lips as I joined him near the companionway. "Have ye walked from Stromness the day?" he asked. "Ay, lad, but ye'll be tired, I doubt. Come away below to the fire and warm yersel'." And he led the way down the ladder and into a close little cabin, where a rousing wood fire was burning under a good pot of potatoes. Captain Flett had spent most of his early days at the Greenland whale fishing, but he had now settled down upon his own quarterdeck to make a comfortable living for himself by helping others; providing for the Orkney islanders, what they much needed, a market of exchange for their native commodities. The Falcon was called a cargo packet; but David Flett was a man of singular enterprise, and styled himself a general merchant. He had, indeed, become quite an important trader in his own way by speculating in quantities of seemingly worthless goods, and reserving them until time gave him a chance of disposing of them at a profit. If a farmer in Ronaldsay told him he was badly in want of a plough or a pony the skipper would speedily find a farmer in another island who had a plough or a pony to sell, and by thus bringing buyer and seller together he made himself a friend to both. Nothing was out of Flett's way. He had a genius for commerce. He would buy an old anchor or a piece of sailcloth from someone in want of ready money, and keep them in the hold of his schooner till he could find a customer in some skipper whose anchor had been slipped or whose sails were in need of repair. I believe he made it his business to find out exactly what every person in Orkney was most in need of, and straightway to set about getting it. A Hoy crofter once said to his master (whether in jest or earnest I know not): "Eh, sir, but Flett's a wonderfu' man. I thought I had met wi' a sore misfortune, twa months syne, when I lost both my cow and my wife over the cliffs; but I went to Davie, and he has gotten me a far better cow and a far bonnier wife." David Flett's habits were well known to me, and on seeing the good man's genial face I at once thought of a way in which he could be of service to me. It is always well to have a friend in court. Why should he not be asked to get me a berth on one of the outgoing ships? "Tak' a seat, now," said he, as he placed a stool for me in a warm corner of the cabin. "Tak' a seat and tell us a' that's passing in Stromness this while back, and then we'll get something to eat." While he was asking questions and listening to my replies, I quietly observed the miscellaneous contents of the cabin. A curious place it was--half cabin and half shop. From the ceiling hung many hams and pieces of bacon, smoked geese, pots and pans, bundles of tallow candles, and strings of onions. On two shelves nailed athwart the compartment were rows of canisters containing coffee, tea, rice, and other luxuries and necessaries, besides bottles of drugs, bars of soap, squares of salt, and other articles of commerce, to be retailed to customers in the remote islands. Presently a seaman, who was addressed as Jerry, came below and took the potatoes from the fire, while the skipper drew a small table to the middle of the floor and set it ready for dinner. The potatoes were placed in a large dish in the centre of the table where we could all reach them, and a joint of corned beef was added, with plenty of oatcakes, cheese, and salt butter. When all was ready for the meal the mate appeared, from I know not where, and took his seat opposite the skipper, and I drew my stool between them, while the man Jerry sat nearer the fire on an upturned cask. The mate, whose name was Peter Brown, was a red-faced little man with a nose that had a decided list to the starboard, very untidy in his dress, and given a bit to swearing, but a real good sort of fellow, as I afterwards found, and a capital seaman. He had served in English ships in the Baltic trade, but getting knocked about in a storm rounding Cape Wrath, breaking his arm and his nose, he had been put ashore at Kirkwall, where he had met with Captain Flett and joined the Falcon, thirteen years before this time. "And now, my lad," said Flett, blowing a hot potato that he held in his horny hand, "what brings ye all the way to Kirkwall on a cold day like this? Ye didna tell us that." "Well, captain," I said, looking down at my platter and wondering how I could eat its plentiful contents, hungry though I was, "I just sauntered along to see if I could get some work. My mother's sorely needin' help now, ye ken, since father was drowned, and I maun be doing something." "Ay, ye're right there, lad; ye're right there. But what kind o' work were ye seekin'?" "I carena what it be, if it's just work," I replied. "But I was thinkin' I'd go in one o' the Kirkwall ships if there was one wantin' a lad." "Weel, that's just most amazing!" exclaimed Flett, dipping his hand into the dish and bringing forth another steaming potato. "For our lad, Jack, has taken a strange misliking to the Falcon, and run away to a bigger ship. "Jerry," he asked, turning to the seaman, "did ye hear onything o' young Jack this mornin'?" "Ay," said Jerry. "He sailed yestreen in the Foaming Wave, the lazy rascal." "We'll need a lad in his place then," said Peter. "Could Ericson come aboard when we're round in Stromness?" "Ye see, Ericson," said the skipper, looking kindly at me and casting another slice of meat on my platter, "Ye see the Falcon's but a wee slip o' a craft, considerin'. But maybe ye'd get along wi' us weel enough till a better offers. So, if ye like, Jerry here'll make up a bunk to ye, and I'll see that your mother, puir soul, doesna want for onything. Sandy Ericson was a good man, as everybody kens, and his widow maun be cared for." Now this unexpected offer of employment was a thing that I had reason to be very grateful for, as I did not neglect to show. While wishing, with true Orcadian love of the sea, to sail for foreign countries in one of the large vessels I had so often seen in the haven of Stromness, I yet believed that there was no place in all the world like the Orkney Islands--no cliffs so high, no sea so blue, no homes so dear--and this new possibility of sailing with Davie Flett in the Falcon among our own islands was more agreeable to me, since it would not necessitate any very long absence from my home, three weeks or a month being the usual extent of the voyage. Before I left the schooner that afternoon, therefore, the matter was fully arranged. The Falcon was to be round in Stromness Bay in a few days' time, and I was then to join her. Passing through Finstown on my way home, I was overtaken by Oliver Gray's man in the inn gig. He gave me a lift as far as Stenness, and thence I hurried to Lyndardy to tell my mother the joyful news. For the next few days, whilst my mother and Jessie were occupied with the business of providing some warm clothing for me, for use on the cold nights at sea, and in other ways preparing for my leaving, I sought to add to our stock of winter provisions by a free use of my gun. The eider ducks, or dunter geese, as we call them in Orkney, are always plentiful in the winter time, and valuable not only for their flesh, but also for their rich downy feathers, and I managed to procure a good number of these. Over at the fresh-water loch of Harray, too, several teals and sheldrakes were taken. And then, when my sport was over, I hung up my gun in its place in the warm byre, believing that I was now a man. So passed the time pleasantly and profitably until, much to my satisfaction, the good ship Falcon arrived in the bay and dropped anchor off the jetty. Chapter XXIX. In Which The "Falcon" Sets Sail. It was on a gray, wintry Saturday morning that we set sail on my first Orcadian voyage. I had, you may be sure, been up at an early hour, helping to load the little vessel with its miscellaneous cargo, to be carried to the many indolent island ports at which our skipper proposed calling. We were ready by about eight o'clock, when I was sent ashore along with Jerry to get two or three letters from the postmaster that had been waiting two weeks for the Falcon, to be taken to some of the outlying islands; for the schooner, in addition to her regular work, also carried the Queen's mails. Then, aboard again, we weighed anchor, the harbour was cleared, and we dropped below the Lookout Hill into the Sound. It was a bitter cold morning, but my excitement on being outward bound on my first trip was enough to keep me warm, and I paced the deck proudly as we passed slowly into the broken water. Over the brown slopes of Graemsay the late-rising sun struggled sleepily to penetrate a dreamy haze; but soon his warmth had strength to melt the white hoar frost from our rigging, and with a brisk breeze and an outflowing tide we slipped through the Sound, dipping and rising as we met the swelling waves of the outer sea. Then the great headland of Hoy loomed into sight, its yellow and red cliffs gleaming across the water as if sunshine always bathed them. From the deck, as we sailed blithely along, I watched the billows rolling landward and dashing upon the hard rocks, resounding with thunderous noise among the hollow chasms. I was unwilling to go below before we had passed beyond the sight of Stromness, but when we were abreast of the Black Craigs I thought I would go down and have a drop of hot coffee. I had no sooner got into the cabin, however, when, what with the pitching of the schooner and the smell of the cheese and bacon and other things, I began to feel a sickening, so I went on deck again and busied myself as best I could, though the skipper had told me he would not expect me to do any work until I got my sea legs. I soon fell into my simple duties, which were the more easy to me since my acquaintance with ships and sailors in Stromness had given me some slight knowledge of the routine work of a small craft. Whenever the schooner was brought round on a new tack I was ready to lend a hand with the ropes. I helped to keep trim the deck, and even had the proud task of taking my trick at the tiller. When I was well enough to venture below I had the duty of preparing the meals, with the help of Jerry, who was man-of-all-work. But this was not until we had been out some days. On the first day I did little but hang about on deck, or sit on the weather gunwale with Captain Flett. The old man was very kind to me, and even put his pipe away lest the smell of the smoke should make me feel sick. One time, when we were so sitting together, I noticed an eagle rise from a ravine in St. John's Head, and we watched the bird sailing backward and forward on steady outstretched wing and finally disappear amid the shadows of the Red Glen. This suggested a long talk about the eagles that inhabited the solitudes of Hoy Island, and the skipper told many a thrilling story of his own adventures in search of eagles' nests in the time when rich rewards were offered for every eagle killed. At midday the Falcon was abreast of the Old Man of Hoy--a curious isolated pinnacle of rock some five hundred feet in height standing out in the sea--and before the time of sunset we rounded Rora Head and entered a beautiful sheltered bay with a fine stretch of sloping beach, beyond which, on the brown moor, about a dozen tiny houses could be seen snugly nestling together beside a flowing stream that had its source away up amongst the hills. This was Rackwick, one of the chief hamlets of Hoy; and when the schooner was brought well inshore the anchor was dropped. The captain then ordered Jerry to blow the horn to announce our arrival to the inhabitants far and near. Jerry thereupon took the fog horn and blew it till the noise resounded and echoed for miles around. Then we all went below to a meal of good Orkney herrings and hot tea. The meal was just finished, and the men were lighting their pipes, when a boat from the shore was brought alongside--a heavy, clumsy boat with great square oars pulled by two burly crofters. When I went on deck with the skipper I found that our arrival at Rackwick had been expected for some time. "Man, Davie," interrogated one of the crofters in a broad Orkney dialect, "where has thoo been wandering sae lang? They was expecting thee mair than a twa week syne. Was thoo thinking o' starving us all?" "Starving you, Tam," returned Flett. "Nay, nay, lad, we'll see ye dinna starve. Come aboard, lad, and let's know what you're needing. We have everything you can want, from a needle to an anchor. So just name it and you'll get it." "We're needing none o' your anchors," said the crofter in a matter-of-fact tone as he climbed up the schooner's side, "but I just mind now, Mary Seater lost her last needle a week syne, and we have but twa needles in all Rackwick, so thoo'd better gie us a penny's worth." Captain Flett told me to get the slate and pencil from below, and as the crofter gave his orders for the articles required I wrote these down under the initial item, "Needles, 1d." When all the necessaries were brought together, they formed a goodly pile of merchandise in the boat. Here were bags of potatoes and of meal, a few loaves of bread, some tin cans and crockery, pieces of cloth, and coils of rope and small parcels of groceries. I went ashore in the boat to help the two men to unload her, and when this was done there was the work of bringing back to the Falcon what things were to be exported or given in exchange for goods received. When the last load was brought on board some ingenuity was required to strike a just balance in the accounts, for in this primitive community actual money, though well appreciated, was of less consequence than money's worth, and the system of barter which Captain Flett necessarily adopted was very difficult of adjustment. However, my schooling was of some service to him in striking a balance, and at nightfall the business was agreeably settled. The next day was the Sabbath, and in the morning Captain Flett appeared on deck dressed in his finest clothes of blue cloth, and wearing a very respectable soft felt hat over his neatly-brushed hair. The mate, Jerry, and I were also apparelled in our Sunday best. After breakfast we went ashore in the dinghy, and the four of us made our way in a body up to the Manse. The room in which service was held was barely large enough to admit so great an addition to its weekly congregation, but we were permitted to take front seats near the chair occupied by the minister, who thus was able not only to exchange occasional civilities with the captain, but also to help himself to a frequent pinch from the old man's snuffbox. I remember I thought the service extremely wearisome, and I soon grew tired of listening to the doctrinal discourse that was given for our benefit. I found diversion in looking through a little window behind the minister, and in observing the curious contortions which were given to a cow browsing on the heath outside whenever the animal passed a certain round knot in the glass. Captain Flett remained ashore with the minister for the rest of the day; and in the afternoon, when Peter was asleep in his bunk, Jerry and I left the schooner and went for a walk across the hills. The weather was not very inviting, for the wind blew in cold, cutting gusts from the northwest, and there was little of interest to be seen on the bleak, treeless waste. The coastline of Scotland was hidden in mist, and even the crown of the Ward hi?^ll was covered by the low-lying clouds. There would be little, indeed, to tell of this walk were it not for an adventure that we encountered. We had got round into the Red Glen, and were resting on a great gray boulder. Everything was so quiet in the shelter of the hills that even the birds seemed to recognize that it was Sunday. Not a living thing was to be seen or a sound to be heard, except the soughing of the wind and the trickling of a burn down the hillside. Presently a loud screech rent the air, and a large eagle swooped swiftly above us, carrying in its talons a rabbit or other small animal. Flying in gradually narrowing circles, the bird at last alighted among some rocks on the opposite side of the valley. We ran as speedily as we could to where the eagle had dropped. To our disappointment, however, the bird took wing and hovered high in the air, but without its victim. Continuing our way in search of the rabbit we saw a very curious sight. In the midst of a number of loose stones someone had set a trap, but had evidently neglected it. This neglect would have been hard on any animals that might have been taken, as their probable fate would be death by starvation. But what was probable did not happen in this case. When we reached the trap we found in it a fine golden eagle, alive and in splendid condition. Around him lay the remains--the well-picked bones--of some twenty rabbits and as many grouse which his mate had brought, and so saved him from a lingering death. The captive eagle, with its great beak dripping with the rabbit's blood, flashed its bright round eyes and ruffled its feathers as Jerry picked up a large stone and prepared to dash it at the bird's head. Quick as might be, I arrested his uplifted arm. "O, Jerry!" I pleaded; "dinna kill him, man. We have not so many eagles as that. Give the bird his liberty." Jerry dropped the stone, and looked at me with a kindly smile. "Well, Ericson," he said, "you're maybe right. A dead eagle isna much good after all. We'll let the bird fly." Whilst Jerry attracted the attention of the eagle forward I went behind, and, taking my knife from my pocket, I was proceeding to open the jaws of the trap, when Jerry exclaimed, "Look out! look out aft!" and before I understood his warning, I was thrown bodily forward by a tremendous blow on my back. The first eagle had watched our proceedings while on the wing, and had flown to her mate's assistance, alighting on my back, at the same time burying her talons in my woollen muffler. In my fall, however, I liberated the captive eagle, which hopped about lamely for a while, and then giving a kind of guttural chuckle, flapped his wide wings, and rose gracefully into the air. Jerry rushed forward to rescue me from the pecking beak of my assailant. Fortunately the female bird, in her eagerness to follow her mate, did not show fight when Jerry belaboured her with his stick, but disentangled her claws from my muffler; at the same time, giving me some severe scratches. Then she took to flight in pursuit of her companion, and soon the pair of birds were seen sailing side by side far up among the leaden clouds. I was not seriously injured, and, so far from regretting that we had not been victorious in the encounter, we were pleased at being the means of restoring the captive bird to its noble mate. Chapter XXX. An Orcadian Voyage. Shortly after midnight, when I lay comfortably in my bunk, I was awakened by hearing the anchor scraping and thumping against the schooner's bow; then there was a hauling of ropes on deck and a creaking of timbers as the sails were run up, and I fell to sleep again before we had got out beyond the shelter of the coast. When I got up in the morning and went on deck, the island of Hoy lay far to windward like a bank of mist upon the sea. We were far out on the broad Pentland Firth, plunging about on the rough water, with our mainsail double-reefed, and the flying jib pulling away like to split itself in the wind. I enjoyed it all for a time; but when I went below to help Jerry to get ready some breakfast for the skipper, the smell of the coffee and the frying bacon overcame me, and I was forced to go back to my bunk, where I remained for the rest of the day helplessly seasick. The next morning, feeling better, I went up to get a breath of fresh air, and found that we were hemmed in by a thick white mist that crept round us, and rendered it difficult for Jerry, who was on the lookout at the bow, to determine our course. We were making for South Ronaldsay, and had been beating about all night, making very little headway; and when the mist lifted before noon, it was discovered that we had been driven down by the current, and had come nigh to running into the black rocks of Stroma Island. Here, where two strong streams met with terrific force, the turbulent water whirled about with wild irregular motion, and we were swept now one way, now another, until it seemed useless to fight against the current that controlled us. We were, in fact, in the midst of that dangerous vortex locally known as the Swelkie. Those who know the secrets of the ocean currents of the northern seas have their own scientific explanations to give; but our native boatmen and sailors, who were not so well acquainted with the eccentricities of the Gulf stream as with the popular legends of Orkney, accounted for the Swelkie in this way: A certain King Frodi had a magical quern, or hand mill, called Grotti; the largest quern ever known in Denmark. Now Grotti, which ground either gold or peace for King Frodi as he willed, was stolen by a sea king named Mysing, who set the mill to grind white salt for his ships. But it happened that Mysing had only learned the spell to set the mill going, and knew not how to stop it. His ships, therefore, became so full of salt that they sank, and Grotti with them, before they could reach the islands of Orkney; hence the Swelkie. This took place to the northwest of Stroma Island, and ever since the sea there has not rested, for as the water falls through the eye of the quern, it roars and rushes about, and the quern goes on grinding and grinding salt, and giving its saltness to the whole ocean. The mist having lifted, Captain Flett had a reef or two let out, and himself took the helm until he got us into calmer water, when we luffed to the windward and headed for South Ronaldsay, with a stiff breeze springing up that gave us a clear seaway to get past the Lother Reef, when we sailed steadily through a lesser rush of tide across a quiet, landlocked sea, into the little haven of Burwick, where in the gathering darkness the chain went rattling down, and we came to a restful anchorage. But our stay at Burwick was not for long, as we had lost much time in the outer sea, and the skipper wanted to get round to St. Margaret's Hope. No sooner had we put a boatload of goods ashore than we set sail again. And now that we were in smoother water, I was not allowed to shirk my watch, but had to spend the better part of the night on deck. A little after midnight we were sailing under easy sail through the dark Sound of Hoxa. I was at the helm, the mate walking the deck in front of me. The night was extremely cold, and some light flakes of snow were falling. I had difficulty in making out the points of land as we passed, but Jerry was at the bow, and I depended upon him and Peter for my steering. Just as we were abreast of Stanger Head, on the little island of Flotta, I thought I saw a small vessel creeping along, well inshore. I drew the mate's attention to it, and he was denying me, when a bright flash of light was seen, followed by a loud report, as of a small piece of ordnance. Peering through the darkness, we could distinguish the sails of a large cutter, which was now bearing down upon us. "It's the Clasper," said Jerry, coming aft. "Confound him!" said the mate. "Does she take us for a smuggler?" From these words I at once understood the meaning of the shot that had been fired; the revenue cutter had evidently mistaken the Falcon for one of the famous smuggling craft of Scapa Flow. We were at once hauled round, and a boat from the Clasper came alongside. A sprightly young lieutenant climbed over our starboard bulwarks, followed by a sailor who carried a large lantern. This the officer took from him, and coming aft to where we all three stood, he held the light aloft peering into our faces. By this time our skipper came up from the cabin, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "What's all the row, Peter?" said he. "Ah! Flett, it's you, eh?" said the lieutenant politely. "I'm sorry to trouble you on such a cold night; I did not recognize your schooner in the dark. But we have strict orders, you know. There's a lot of it going on, and we must search you. A mere matter of form, of course. You won't object?" "Nay, I don't object, Mr. Fox. Search away," said David, turning to go below. A hurried search was made accordingly, but nothing suggesting contraband traffic being discovered, the revenue men went away perfectly satisfied, the lieutenant wishing us a goodnight, and requesting us to keep the affair a secret when we arrived in Stromness. Early on the next day we touched at St. Margaret's Hope--one of the chief fishing stations of Orkney--and our course thereafter lay along the eastern shores of the Mainland. Long and dreary was the passage northward from Ronaldsay to Stronsay. The cold, frosty winds and weary, dark nights, made the long watches on deck difficult to endure; but when my turn was over, and I could get below to the fire, I generally forgot about the hardships, and began to think that life at sea was really not unpleasant. Captain Flett tried to make my position comfortable and my work agreeable, and sometimes when I was on deck with him at night, he would remain by me smoking, and make the time pass lightly by telling me of his early experiences in the Dundee whaling ships; or more often he would instruct me in seamanship, and teach me regarding the tides and channels of Orkney. Thus during this voyage among the islands was the weariness of many a night watch relieved. There was something to be told of almost every place at which the Falcon touched. Often the talk would turn upon the subject of wrecks, and of the wreckers who inhabited the storm-swept islands, and were not above welcoming a shipwreck for the sake of the valuable spoil they might procure. Anchored off a little port in Sanday, David told me of a minister who, while professing to deplore the frequency of shipwrecks on the coast, ended a prayer by saying: "Nevertheless, if it please Thee to cause helpless ships to be cast on the shore, oh, dinna forget the poor island of Sanday." We pursued our tortuous course as far north as a place called Pierowall, in the island of Westray; when we found that there was need to continue the voyage still further to Fair Isle, a little island that lies about midway between Orkney and Shetland, for the people in that place, we heard, had got short of winter provisions, and our skipper would not hear of returning until he had supplied the deficiency. The weather became boisterous as we entered the open sea again, and I had my first experience of really rough sailing. For two days the schooner tossed upon the great white-crested waves which dashed against her bows, broke in snowy foam upon the deck, and glistened on oilskin and sou'wester. The wind whistled with piteous noise among the ropes, and frequent showers of hail and sleet added to our discomfort. On the third day after leaving the Orkneys we sighted Fair Isle, looming faintly through a mist of snow, far to starboard. With difficulty we tacked to windward, for the northeast wind had driven us considerably out of our course. Darkness came on at about three o'clock in the afternoon in these latitudes, and we wanted to make the harbour in daylight. But though the wind fell, the snow and mist came on so thickly that we quite lost sight of the island, and in our difficulty a terrible thing happened. We were all hands on deck, and sailing close-hauled with a good stretch of canvas set. I was at the helm, and the skipper standing near me. Jerry and the mate were nailing some boards on the companion hatch to keep out the snow from the cabin. Suddenly the schooner gave a great lurch and fell off the wind. The mainsail flapped wildly for a moment, and as we luffed again we went over with a list that swung the boom back with such force that the ropes that held it were slipped, and the spar struck the skipper a blow upon the shoulder that sent him headlong overboard into the sea. Jerry and the mate saw the accident, and while I still held the tiller hard a-port, they at once got out the boat. Jerry and Peter each took an oar and rowed quickly astern to where Captain Flett was swimming. It will be easily understood that, left to myself, I could not manage the schooner with much skill; for, in the first place, I could not without help bring the sails over on the other tack, and in the second I could not well leave the helm. Indeed, I had the greatest difficulty in hauling the vessel round, and before I succeeded in doing anything beyond simply putting the helm a-port, the driving snow had surrounded me in its mist, and I lost sight of the boat. I could see it nowhere. I called aloud, but the wind whistling in the ropes overpowered my voice. I left the tiller and got the fog horn. But, alas! I had never practised blowing that instrument, and try as I would, I could get no more than a feeble grunt out of it. Thicker and thicker grew the mist, and the snow fell in numerous and heavy flakes. Darkness came on, and still never a boat could I see, never a sound could I hear but the ceaseless swish of the snow and the soughing of the wind. The schooner pitched and rolled helplessly on the waves, and I was in terror lest the sails should split in their mad flapping. I tried to secure the heavy boom that had been the cause of this mischief, and after a long struggle with it I succeeded. Then I went below and lighted the lamps, and having fixed them in their places so that they might be seen from the boat I made another attempt to bring the vessel round on the starboard tack and keep her to the windward. All through that long dark night I beat about on the rough sea with the snow driving cold and sharp upon me, and the waves breaking on the deck. I was tired and sleepy after a hard day's work, yet I could not think of this, nor of my hunger and my cold hands and feet. My only object now was to recover my messmates, and as the night wore on without my seeing any sign of them, I grew utterly hopeless, for they were without food and far from land, and God alone knew what had become of them. From my despair at the probable fate of the boat, however, I gradually realized the fact that my own condition was not without peril. Here was I, a slip of a lad, alone and helpless, out in the open sea, in a schooner that three men could only with difficulty manage. I had but small skill in seamanship. I knew almost nothing of my whereabouts, and, added to these disadvantages, I had the physical discomforts to endure of fatigue, hunger, and cold. At about nine o'clock I went below to get something to eat. The fire was out, so I could not make any coffee; but there was a bottle of spirits in the locker, and fancying this might do me good I, for the first time in my life, drank some. I at once felt much warmer, and I took half a glassful with some water and drank it with the oatcake and cold bacon that I ate. Going on deck again, I felt much more comfortable; but the spirits that had warmed my vitals soon had an effect upon me that I had not counted upon. My eyesight became hazy, and I felt terribly sleepy--so sleepy that I could not remain at the helm for fear of falling into a slumber at my post. So I tied up the tiller, and, for the rest of the night, walked the deck, only altering the schooner's course when I thought that she was being driven too far from the spot where the boat had put off. All the night through I peered over the dark sea, and at intervals raised my voice, in the faint hope of coming across the boat. But for all the lookout that I kept, never a boat could I see; and for all my shouting, never a response to my cries could I hear. Whatever had become of the skipper--whether he had been picked up or was drowned--the mate and Jerry were gone, and I, the youngest of the crew, was left alone on the Falcon to bring her back to port, if haply I was not taken by her across the dreary waste of ocean to some terrible and unknown destiny. Chapter XXXI. An Arctic Waif. When the dim light of dawn fell upon the sea I looked over the gray waters through the telescope. The mist had faded away, and the snow had ceased to fall. A fresh breeze from the low east brought a faint glimmer of sunshine with it. But though I searched the horizon, and the wide intervening space of sea, yet could I discover nothing of the boat, and Fair Isle was nowhere to be seen. Looking for that island--which I knew to be the nearest land--I remembered the islanders and thought how little chance there now remained of the Falcon rendering them assistance in their need of provisions. I saw no possibility of reaching Fair Isle; for, as I had seen it on the previous day, it appeared but a small rock; and being out of all my reckoning, and, as I supposed, a considerable distance to leeward, I did not think it wise to waste much time in the vain effort to reach the island, the exact position of which I was ignorant of. I might have beat about for two or three days, perhaps, without sighting it, and yet I knew not what other land to make for. The wind, which was now blowing east-southeast, was unfavourable in an attempt to make for the Orkneys. The only alternative that I could see, therefore, was to head the schooner round on the port tack and bear northward to the Shetlands. I went below to look at the chart to determine my position and the course I should take; and, to prepare myself for difficulties I foresaw, I lighted a fire and made myself some coffee and cooked some bacon for breakfast. When I had eaten a good meal and warmed myself, a drowsiness came over me again, and I threw myself on the skipper's bed to rest for a little while. I must have slept very soundly; for when I awoke the fire was out, and I saw by the chronometer that it was nearly eleven o'clock. But my sleep had done me great good, and I hurried on deck and looked round. The schooner was labouring aimlessly for the want of the helm to guide her and keep her on her course; but soon I brought her to again and she went scudding along bravely. I made no doubt that at the rate she was sailing I should sight Sumburgh Head early the next morning. What troubled me most was that she appeared to be making a good deal of leeway. This was my one danger, for if I should be taken so much to leeward as to miss the southern point of the Shetland Mainland, then I should lose my chance of making Lerwick. Thus I might possibly be driven northward beyond the islands, and so find myself in a worse plight than if I had tried to regain the Orkneys. The sight of a few fishing smacks on the far east inspired me with renewed hope. They were making north, but they were too far away for me to signal them. As a precaution, however, I hoisted a signal of distress in case any passing ship should see the Falcon whilst I was below or asleep at any time. But this was of no avail as it happened, for all the rest of that day I saw not another sail. The next night was spent in weariness on deck, with a cold rain falling. I managed to keep awake without much difficulty, for I did not take any more spirits, but had a can of hot coffee beside me at the tiller, and went below several times to keep the fire alight and the kettle on the boil. At about midnight I saw a ship's light to windward, but it soon dropped below the horizon. It showed me that I was still on the sea track between Orkney and Shetland, and I kept a sharp lookout towards morning for the Sumburgh light. Day broke with a haze over the water and a cloudy sky. The wind shifted to the northeast, bringing snow. At midday the wind was due north, and several inches of snow lay on the schooner's deck. I boiled some potatoes for my dinner, and thought that I had something to be thankful for in having a good store of provisions on board. I was beginning to think that I should need them, for I had not yet sighted the land. Again the night came, and still I had seen no more sails. I had seen no land. The rays of the Sumburgh light never reached the poor Falcon. I felt that I was drifting to westward, being carried away in the grip of one of those mysterious ocean currents that are the terror of the northern latitudes. On the fourth day of my lonely voyage I was oppressed by a deep sense of the danger of my situation. I realized that I had missed the Shetlands; that I could now do no more than abandon myself to the will of the wind, and trust to falling in with some vessel that might be making for the Faroe Islands or for Iceland. If I had had a companion to take watch about with me I might have got along fairly well; but with my hard work of trimming the sails, and battling with the fitful winds, I could not do without sleep, and during my hours of sleep the schooner always fell off her course, and I could make no reckoning. Day followed day, and my situation underwent no visible change, excepting only that the temperature became ever colder and colder, that the snow fell more constantly, and that the mist hemmed me in more closely. Sometimes at midday the mist would lift and I saw around me the great wide stretch of desolate sea, with an ice floe floating here and there. On one such occasion I fancied I saw land on the windward bow, a white mountainous peak rose high in air, and, not knowing where I might be, I took it to be one of the joekulls of Iceland. But, alas! it proved to be but an immense iceberg. In my solitude I naturally thought much of my home, now so far away, and of my dear mother and sister, and their prayers for my safety. For their sakes I dreaded to think that I might never return to them again. I thought, too, of Thora, and wondered many times if she was better, or if her illness had taken her away. I had before found comfort in the thought that she was protected by the viking's stone. But, probably, I now needed its mystic help even more than she. One afternoon--I think it must have been about the twentieth day of my loneliness--I had been asleep for some three hours, and in a kind of waking dream I saw a strange vague vision. A number of persons, whose faces I could not rightly discern, were in a large room. Amongst them was Thora, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her in my life, and she stood pointing with an accusing finger at her brother Tom, at whose feet there crouched a lean dog, snarling at him. I was awakened from my half sleep by the noise of a crackling and scraping of ice upon the schooner's sides. I had seen many floating pieces of ice during the past few days, but this, from the noise it made, seemed to be an unusually large piece. I feared it might even be an iceberg, and I hastened up on deck. I shall never forget the sight that greeted me. The whole sky was aglow with the light of the aurora borealis--or the Merry Dancers, as we call the phenomenon in Orkney. A beautiful crimson curtain, fringed with flickering streamers, spanned the northern sky. From east to west there passed a succession of trembling waves of light, many coloured, from faint rose to palest yellow and delicate green. A heavy cloud of inky blackness hung high above, and from its upper margin rays of fiery light flashed far across the sky, casting their reflections upon the sea. Two ghostly icebergs, floating about a mile apart, reared their snowy peaks on high, and in the channel between them--most welcome sight of all--there sailed a ship. The vessel's sails were hanging stiff about the spars and her timbers were coated with ice and snow. I steered the schooner towards her, and we slowly approached. When I was near enough I hailed her and waited, listening for an answer to my call. No answer came. A feeling of awe crept over me. There was something strangely desolate about her. No hand seemed to be guiding her helm. Not a man was to be seen on her snow-covered decks. She sailed aimlessly along, as though all on board had ceased to care when or how she reached her destination. I brought the schooner close in to the stranger's side until we touched, and then I got the large boat hook out and fixed it in her chains. None of the ship's crew appeared to have remarked my approach. What could they be doing? Perhaps, I thought, they were all below decks. I climbed upon the Falcon's gunwale and looked through an open porthole into the vessel's after cabin. I saw there a man seated at a table, with his back towards me, apparently writing. "Hello in there! D'ye keep no watch aboard?" I cried. He appeared not to hear me, but held the pen in his hand as though in deep meditation. I clambered up the vessel's side and got over the quarter rail, taking with me the end of a stout rope with which to secure the two ships together. The snow was deep on the stranger's decks, and bore no trace of footsteps. All was quiet. . I crossed over to the companion ladder, and found my way down to the door of the cabin. I knocked with my knuckles, but no voice answered, and I went within. The man still sat at the table, without turning at my entrance. The atmosphere was cold and musty; there was no fire in the stove, although yet another man sat crouched before it. I went behind the man at the table and touched him on the shoulder. "D'ye not hear me, sir?" I said. "Are ye deaf? or what has gone wrong?" He did not move. I looked down into his face. "Heavens!" I exclaimed, drawing back in horror at the grim sight. What did it mean? I made bold to look again, though I felt myself trembling. A green damp mould covered his cheek and forehead, and hung in a ghastly fringe over his open eyes. The man was a frozen corpse! Terrified at the sight, I fled up the stairs with my heart wildly beating. Regaining the deck I looked about me, but there was no sign of life anywhere on the ship. Afraid to make any further search, I clambered down into the Falcon and rushed below. I cast myself before the fire, trembling and unable to realize anything for the mortal fear that was upon me. I tried to forget the sight of that face of death, with its horribly grim and mouldy features, but it haunted me with terrible clearness. I roused up my fire and made some strong tea, and, drinking it, I wondered why I had not thought of pushing off the schooner from this death ship. It was now growing dark, and the thought of spending a whole night alone in the near presence of dead men, whose ghosts, for all I knew, might visit me, filled my mind with strange and awful fancies. Even the sound of the wind whispering in the ropes struck me with nervous fear. But the drink of tea and what little I ate helped to revive my spirits, and gradually my sense of awe was overcome by a curiosity that came upon me--a curiosity to go aboard the vessel again and discover something more of her singular condition. It was now wearing on towards night and I trimmed my lamps. Lighting a small lantern, I carried it with me on deck. I made the two vessels still more secure by means of a hawser rope, and then went aboard the barque. As I began to climb up her side I was conscious that she seemed to be deeper in the water than she had been when I came alongside of her, but the discovery did not at the moment trouble me. I carried my lantern across her quarterdeck, and with timid steps again descended into the after cabin. The lantern shed a ghostly light upon the figure of the man at the table. I walked round to the opposite side from that at which he sat and turned the light upon his face. His long beard was overgrown with the same green mould that hung over his glassy blue eyes, and yet there was a look of life about his features. I chanced to look at the ink pot in front of him. A little black dust was all that it contained. Then I had a wish to see what he had been writing in his log book. I drew the volume towards me and turned it that I might read. The words were in English; they seemed to have been written by a cold and trembling hand. The last lines on the open page were in themselves a revelation. They were as follows: "It is now seventeen days since we were shut up in the ice. The fire went out yesterday, and our captain has since tried to light it again. His wife died this morning. There is no more hope." I pondered over these words for some time, trying to realize their sad meaning. "There is no more hope!" How long since had that sentence been written? How long had the ice imprisoned this vessel in its cold, hard grip? I turned back a few pages in search of some recorded date, and found this entry: "New Year's Day, 1831:--The ice still closing in on us. Opened last bag of biscuits. Murray died this morning." So long ago! the year 1831! and now it was the year 1844! The ship, then, had been lost for thirteen years! I turned the light upon the man crouching over the stove. His features, like those of his companion, were covered with green mould, and his beard was fringed with the same grim mildew. Taking my lantern I went through into the stateroom, and there I found the body of a woman laid upon a bed. Her features were still fresh and lifelike, but her black hair was powdered with the damp green growth. Before her a young man was seated on the floor, holding a flint in one hand and a steel in the other. A few sticks of hard wood were piled up in front of him. I could but surmise that these were the captain and his wife. From the stateroom I turned into the pantry. Not a sign of provisions of any sort could I discover, either here or in any other part of the ship. The galley fireplace was empty of fuel, a few pieces of charred wood were the only remains of a fire. Before leaving the ship I went forward into the fore cabin. A dog was stretched out as though asleep at the foot of the ladder, and several sailors lay in their hammocks. They also were reposing in the sleep of death. They all appeared to have died very peacefully; but whether from the want of food alone or, as I have since thought possible, from want of air, being shut up in the heart of an iceberg, I had no means of knowing. I did not further continue my search of the vessel that night, but went on board the Falcon, feeling sick and nervous. I could eat nothing; but having taken a drink of hot coffee, I sat before a good fire, thinking over what I had just seen, and planning what I should do. If any one of those poor men could, in his dire need, have had a drink of my coffee, or a spoonful of the good porridge I had made but could not myself eat, heavens! how he would have relished it! Here was I, with a schooner well loaded with provisions. Some strange fate had brought me to this ship. But all that I could have supplied was useless to the sufferers now. They had perished of starvation and cold, and my food and fire were of no avail, for I had come thirteen years too late! Chapter XXXII. The Last Of The "Pilgrim." I could sleep but little during that long and wearying night. Terrible thoughts haunted me--thoughts of my own peril and loneliness, thoughts of the dead men that I had seen. Before daybreak I was on deck, and in the dim light I noticed that the ice which had been so scattered over the sea for the past few days had almost disappeared. At daylight, looking overboard at the hull of the dread ship alongside, I observed two things. The first was that we were drifting perceptibly southward; this was satisfactory. The second was that the larger vessel had sunk at least a couple of inches deeper in the water; this was alarming. Now that it was daylight I was able to read the ship's name at her stern, though I had first to knock away a quantity of ice and snow from above the letters. I found that she was the Pilgrim of Bristol. I had before perceived that she was not a whaler, nor did she appear to have been fitted out for an Arctic voyage. I marvelled much what had brought her to these seas, and whither she had been bound, and what her cargo was. More than all did I wonder what I was to do with her. Here was I, placed by strange circumstances in command of two vessels, a schooner and a barque, and without the power or skill to take either of them into port--not knowing, indeed, where a port could be found. Had Davie Flett, Peter, and Jerry still been with me on the Falcon, we might have taken the Pilgrim to Stromness; we might also have given to her crew, or what remained of them, the decent burial for which they had waited so long. But, as things stood, I should have been thankful if I could have simply foreseen the possibility of getting out of my position of difficulty, regardless of either vessel. The sight of those dead bodies on the Pilgrim had made me utterly downcast. Their terrible fate had suggested to me the uncertainty of my own. When I had taken some breakfast, I again went aboard the Pilgrim. I discovered that her cargo consisted for the most part of sulphur. Now, sulphur I knew to be a product of Iceland, and I judged from this that the ship had touched at that northern island. I went into the chart room. A couple of charts were spread out on a couch. One of them was a chart of the north of Scotland, including the Orkney and Shetland Islands; the second was a continuation of the first, and gave the whole coast of Iceland and the sea beyond as high as the seventy-seventh degree of north latitude. The ship's course was clearly traced upon the charts in lines of red ink, and, following it, I could see that the Pilgrim (sailing, I suppose, from Bristol or some other English port) had rounded Cape Wrath and gone in at Kirkwall, in the Orkneys; thence the course was continued in a regular zigzag northward to a port on the north of Iceland, and then due east, as though she had been making for Scandinavia. But here the line became broken and irregular, and swept round suddenly to the far northwest, as though the vessel had been carried away by some adverse current or contrary wind away into the Arctic seas. Here, then, I had a rough sort of explanation of the Pilgrim's voyage. I was leaving the captain's room, taking the charts with me, when, on giving a last look round, I noticed a sleeping berth curtained off by a plaid shawl. I drew the curtain aside, and saw something sparkling. It was a beautiful diamond ring that encircled one of the fingers of a man's thin white hand. The hand was clasped over some small object that I did not see. Turning down a heavy fur rug that covered the man's dead body I noticed that his clothing, his appearance generally, were not those of a seaman. He had a long, silky, brown beard, and a very handsome face, which, however, was marred by an ugly scar on the brow. I judged him to be about thirty-five years old. Lying on his breast was a thick notebook, which, on opening the pages, I found to be filled with writing in a foreign language. Turning from the bed place I was again attracted by the man's sparkling ring. I gently opened the hand and drew the ring from the thin finger, and as I did so a small gold locket dropped from the hand. It contained the painted portrait of a very beautiful girl with fair hair and fine blue eyes. I looked in strange admiration at the face. It had probably been the last object the dead man had seen. With a feeling of reverence I put the locket back into his hand. But with feelings that were less reverent I placed the diamond ring on my own finger, and took possession of the notebook. These, with the charts and the log book of the man in the after cabin, I carried on board the Falcon. That afternoon I chanced to look overboard at the Pilgrim's waterline. She had sunk at least three more inches. I felt that, whatever happened to myself and the schooner, the Pilgrim at least would never again reach port, and I determined to save from the vessel what articles might be of use to me in case I should be able to return to land. I therefore went on board again and took possession of the ship's papers, some firearms and cabin furniture, a number of English books, and a small chest that I found in the captain's room. The wind had fallen almost to a dead calm very soon after I had come alongside the Pilgrim, and I had thus been able to keep the two vessels together without any difficulty. But that afternoon as I sat before my fire reading a book on navigation--that part of it relating to the art of taking an observation on the sun, moon, and stars--the schooner listed over to larboard, as though the wind had caught her sails. I rushed up on deck and found that a strong breeze was blowing from the northwest, and was filling the sails of both vessels. The Pilgrim, indeed, was sailing with considerable speed, dragging the schooner along with her. I ran forward and cast off the rope that held us together. Not too soon, for the barque was leaning over on her port side and visibly settling down. As speedily as I could I trimmed the schooner's sails and got her free. She took the wind bravely, and I left the Pilgrim to leeward. I watched her struggling on the gradually rising waves as she tossed about aimlessly for the space of about half an hour. Then I saw her bows dip deep into the water and her stern rise high, while, with a heavy plunge and a surging sound that came to me like a melancholy groan, she disappeared, carrying her lifeless crew with her to that tomb for which they had waited so long. Chapter XXXIII. The Light In The Gaulton Cave. The favourable breeze from the northwest continued with little variation for several days after the foundering of the Pilgrim, and I kept the schooner on the one tack, sailing before the wind, with the tiller often tied up for many hours together without my needing to touch it. I contrived, after many failures, to take an observation on the second day, for the sky was then clear, and I had all the necessary appliances excepting only the skill to use the quadrant with a seaman's confidence. I made out that I was to the northwest of the Faroe Islands, and I made no doubt that I should sight one of that group in the course of that same day or the day after. But such was not to be my good luck. For eight full days and nights I kept on the same course, with a dull, leaden sky above and a mist creeping over the sea, and never a bit of land could I discover, nor any light, whether of beacon or of ship. On the twelfth day after the sinking of the Pilgrim, however, I saw, to my great joy, a strip of land on the southeastern horizon. I had not the slightest notion whether it belonged to the Faroe or to the Shetland islands, but I fancied it might be the latter. It was a small island with a high rocky coast, and a vast number of sea fowl flying about and above it. I was some six miles from the island when I noticed a brown-sailed fishing smack bearing out towards me. As the boat came near enough I hailed it. Two men were aboard, and they answered me in good Orkney dialect. They dropped alongside of the Falcon, and I threw them a rope's end. My first question was to ask them the name of this island. What joy it was to me to hear once more a human voice, to see a fresh and rosy face! "It's the Fair Isle," said one of them. "We thought you was lost. Where have you been, my lad, all this while past since Davie Flett fell owerboard?" "What!" I asked, "did Davie come ashore?" "Ay, did he," said the fisherman; "he was picked up by his own boat, and they brought him ashore here the next morning. We sent three luggers out to seek you yourself, when we heard that you were aboard the Falcon alone, but they could find you nowhere." The men brought their boat astern and came aboard. I asked them further about Captain Flett, and learned that he, with the mate and Jerry, had only the evening before gone back to Orkney in a Kirkwall fishing sloop. The two Fair Islanders then helped me to take the Falcon into their small landlocked haven, where, having supplied the good people with an abundance of provisions, I engaged the services of three fishermen to help me with the schooner back to Stromness, and on the morning following we set sail. It was well that I got this timely assistance, and that I was not suffered to remain any longer alone on the Falcon, for on leaving Fair Isle we encountered boisterous weather. For two days we were tossed about on the great, white-crested waves of the open sea, and frequent showers of hail and sleet added to our discomfort. The storm abated somewhat as the rocky shores of Pomona hove in sight, and soon the familiar bay of Skaill and the cliffs of my native parish seaboard showed me that the voyage was approaching a welcome end. It was evening when the schooner passed abreast of the rocks of Yeskenaby, and now I watched eagerly for the light in the windows of Lyndardy farm. As I looked landward, however, I observed something through the growing darkness that excited considerable wonder in my mind. Low down in the North Gaulton cliffs I noticed a peculiar hazy light. Presently it grew brighter and developed into a flickering flame and then disappeared. The light was not seen by any of my crew; but from its position I judged that it proceeded from a torch which someone was using in that cave in the cliff wherein Thora and I had met with our adventure some weeks before. Chapter XXXIV. Colin Lothian Makes An Accusation. When I went ashore at Stromness I found that Captain Flett, who had landed in Orkney three or four days before me, had not yet come over from Kirkwall; so next morning I paid off my three Fair Islanders, who went over by land to Kirkwall, intending to return to their home by the sloop that had brought my skipper and shipmates. I saw the schooner safely moored in the bay, with her cabin door locked and her hatchway closed, and then went up home to Lyndardy. My mother and Jessie had already heard that the Falcon had come into the harbour; they gave me a very warm welcome from this my first voyage, and listened with interest and surprise to the things I had to tell them. On my way through the town the following morning I chanced to meet my old schoolmaster, who walked along with me as far as the quay. He had two things that he wished to tell me: the one being that his written account of Jarl Haffling's remains had been read before the Society of Antiquaries in Edinburgh, and was to be printed in the Society's Transactions; the other matter being that proceedings were, he believed, very soon to be taken against Tom Kinlay for having appropriated a part of the viking's treasure. When we had spoken of these matters, there was much for me to tell the dominie; but as it was too cold for us to stand on the quay, I took him with me aboard the schooner, where I had some advice to ask him regarding my course in reporting the loss of the Pilgrim to the underwriters. Seated in the cabin I told him my adventure, and showed him all the books and papers I had taken from the barque before she went down. He gave me what simple instruction I required, and offered to help me in preparing my report for Lloyd's agent. With this purpose in view I permitted Mr. Drever to take the log book ashore with him, as well as the little chest that I had taken from the captain's room on board the Pilgrim. I was pushing off from the pier, having put the dominie ashore, when I heard myself called, and there, at the head of the piers stood my skipper, Davie Flett, newly arrived from Kirkwall. How thankful I was to see his familiar stumpy figure again I need not say. He was coming down towards me when Carver Kinlay accosted him, and kept him in conversation. But I approached the two men, taking Flett by the hand. He gave little notice to me beyond a very ordinary greeting; but I saw by his eyes that he was glad enough to see me, only that he probably had some business to talk over with the pilot. I stood by them, wishing they would be done. "And how's business in the islands, Davie?" said Kinlay in an offhand tone. "Fairly weel! fairly weel!" said the captain. "Nothing to complain o', ye ken." "Ay, I see!" said Carver; "no sae weel but ye might do better, eh? I'm thinkin', Davie, ye need to open up a new line o' business among the crofters." "Ah! and what business is that, pilot?" asked Flett. "Oh, I dinna just ken that, but ye canna aye sail on the same tack. Now, supposin', for instance, ye were to start something in the liquor line. Ye have grand facilities for that, have ye not?" "I'll not deny that I have the facilities," observed Flett, with a curious twinkle in his eye. "But ye see, pilot, there's no demand for liquor in the islands. What for would I tak' spirits to the crofters when the poor folk canna more than pay for their bannocks?" "Why, man alive, ye can surely make a demand? Just carry a good supply of spirits in yer schooner, and I warrant ye'll do a grand trade." "Ye're maybe no far wrang there," said Davie thoughtfully. "But then, there's another difficulty, pilot; where will the spirits come from?" "Why, man," said Kinlay, lowering his voice, "that's just the simplest part o' the whole business. Think ye that no whisky comes into Stromness forbye what gangs to Oliver Gray's? Why, man, if it came to that, I could undertake to supply ye mysel' on the most easy terms." "Ay, like enough," returned Flett, with a look in his face that Carver did not observe. "Like enough--excise paid, of course?" "Oh! we needna say anything about the excise, Davie," said the pilot, looking uneasy. "What does't matter about the excise?" Davie Flett quietly stroked his bristly chin, saying: "Weel, Carver Kinlay, it's the first time I have heard of a pilot having a hand in that business. But, no doubt, a pilot has grand facilities. However that may be, I'm not sure that the Orkney crofters would welcome such a new line of business. Anyway, I have more respect for the crofters and for their poor families than to think of starting such a damnable traffic; nor am I in the least disposed to turn a schooner of mine into a floating grog shop. Good morning, pilot!" Kinlay winced visibly under this taunting speech of the trading captain. Evidently he had mistaken his man in supposing that Flett would descend to his own level, and aid in promoting the nefarious traffic he suggested. Davie Flett's intimate knowledge of the Orcadians, and the nature of his commerce with them, would certainly have made it easy for him to do a considerable retail trade. But, as I well knew, the skipper of the Falcon had systematically avoided including spirits in his stock of marketable commodities. Though himself no enemy to an occasional dram on a cold night, he knew too well the evil effects that would probably follow the introduction of strong drink among the innocent islanders, who, for the most part, had the greatest difficulty in gaining a simple livelihood. Even apart from his moral scruples, Davie Flett had excellent reasons for rejecting Kinlay's singular proposal. One thing that I gathered from this conversation was the suspicion that Carver, who had often posed as a very innocent man, was, either directly or indirectly, in league with the smugglers of Scapa Flow. That could be the only way in which he could obtain spirits or other illicit goods at a lower rate than through the ordinary channels of commerce; and the pilot's evasion of the question regarding excise almost confirmed my suspicions. Kinlay walked slowly away, and when he had disappeared, Davie Flett turned round to me with open arms as though he would embrace me. "Halcro, my lad," said he, "I am real glad to see you. Thank the Lord ye're safe!" "I might say the same to you, captain," said I. "How were ye rescued, and where are Peter and Jerry?" "Peter and Jerry are at Oliver Gray's," he answered. "Come, let us join them. As for mysel', why, there's nothing much to tell. I was picked up by the boat ten minutes after I dropped owerboard. We searched about for you all night. But ye mind what a mist was ower the sea. It was no wonder we lost sight of the schooner. But ye're safe, and that's a blessing." The skipper then began to ask me a multitude of questions concerning the behaviour of the schooner. But we were now passing through the narrow street and I was interrupted; for we overtook old Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar, who was trudging along over the frost-covered stones with his dog at his heels. "Weel, Colin, auld crony," exclaimed the skipper as we came alongside the old man, "you're aye travelling. Think you we're to have some more snow?" "Nay, captain, I dinna think it; the wind's ower high for that," the wanderer replied, looking up at the dull sky above Gray's signboard. "Then if it isna snow it'll be a night o' hard frost," said the skipper. "Will ye come in and take something to warm ye, Colin?" And Colin silently complied. Entering the inn we found a goodly number of men gathered round the cosy stove with steaming glasses before them. Most of them were men of Pomona; but I noticed also a young man who sat somewhat apart from the rest, and in him, despite the absence of naval uniform, I had little difficulty in recognizing Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper, who had boarded the Falcon some weeks before in the Sound of Hoxa. Then, too, there were Peter and Jerry, both of whom welcomed me with many words of kindness, and made room for me beside them. Captain Flett ordered Oliver to bring in a glass of hot rum for himself, and two mugs of coffee for Lothian and me; and we had not been seated long before Peter Brown inquired of me the particulars of my solitary voyage in the Falcon. At first very few of the men paid much attention to my narrative, but when I came to the discovery of the ship that had been imprisoned in the ice, and told about the man I saw through the porthole, they all drew their chairs nearer to me and listened with rapt attention. When I spoke about the dead captain's wife, and said that her features were still lifelike, there was a murmur of incredulity; none of the men would believe that I was not romancing. But the young lieutenant here interposed. "Let the lad go on with his yarn," he said. "Believe me it's quite possible that the woman's face should show no signs of death. I have known frost and ice preserve a dead body for many months." With that they were quieted. But again, when I spoke of the log book and said that the ship had been enclosed in the ice for thirteen years, even the lieutenant seemed to disbelieve me. "Thirteen years!" he exclaimed. "Come now, come, draw it mild, my lad, that won't do at all, you've mistaken the writing somehow. Show us the log book and then we'll believe it." "I'm sure I did not mistake, sir," I protested, "for the writing was as plain as plain could be, "'New Year's Day, 1831. The ice still closing in on us. Opened last bag of biscuits. Murray died this morning.' "These were the very words, and I'll show you them if--" Here I felt a trembling hand clasped on my knee, and Peter asked excitedly, "What name did you say? Was it Murray?" "Murray! yes, that was the man who died on New Year's Day." "Good heavens!" exclaimed Peter. "Tell me, what was the name of the ship? Did you not find that out?" "Why, yes, Peter, I saw her name. She was called the Pilgrim--of Bristol." Peter became excited, and a strange pallor came over his face. "Why, what's come ower you, Peter?" asked Captain Flett. "D'ye know the craft?" "Know her!" said Peter; "I should think I did. She was my own ship. I sailed in the Pilgrim as second mate for three years, and I started with her on that same last voyage." It was now my turn to show surprise. "Your ship, Peter!" I said. "Yes," he continued. "We sailed out of Bristol in the month of February, 1830, bound for Copenhagen, calling at Iceland. But off the Lewis--or was it Cape Wrath?--I had some o' my bones broken, and they put me ashore at Kirkwall." "Yes, she called at Kirkwall," I said. "I saw that on the chart." "That was just before I joined the Falcon, captain," continued Peter, turning to Flett. "I mind them all, those dead folk, even to the dog that Ericson has told us about--a retriever named Bounce. Our skipper was a Dane named Thomassen, and his wife sailed with us that voyage. She was as fine a woman as ever I see in Denmark. Murray was the first mate, and the man Ericson saw through the porthole can have been none other than Jenkins, the supercargo; he belonged to Bristol. The only thing that puzzles me is the man that Ericson saw lying in the captain's room." "Maybe he went aboard in Iceland, Peter--a passenger," suggested Flett. "Ye canna tell." "Ay, that'll just be it," mused Peter, "a passenger, no doubt. Ay, I well believe that will just be what he was." Lieutenant Fox at this point moved away from the circle to get a light for his pipe at the stove. He stood behind us listening to a conversation between Colin Lothian and Jack Paterson; and as Peter Brown lapsed into silent meditation I diverted my own attention to what Colin and Jack were saying. "Ay, Colin, but that's news," said Paterson. "And so Harry Ewan has fallen into their hands at last, eh!" "Ay, just that," said Lothian. "I was over at Clestron yestreen, and they were telling me that just as Harry was slipping round into the Bay of Houton, thinking, no doubt, that everything was clear for the landin' o' his cargo, the revenue boat came out from behind the Holm, like a hawk on a ferret. Ye may be sure, Jack, that Harry and his crew didna give in without a fight for it; but the navy lads had the upper hand at last, and, what was more to their purpose, they found in Ewan's lugger five gallant casks o' whisky, not to speak o' half a dozen rolls o' tobacco, and I dinna ken how muckle salt and candles." Lothian had raised his voice, and several of the men had moved closer to him to hear the particulars of this raid upon one of the known smugglers of Scapa Flow. So much, indeed, was the general attention occupied that none of the men seemed to regard the entrance of yet another person into the inn parlour. This was none other than Tom Kinlay, who, with his great boots and pea jacket on and his sou'wester hat, looked as big a man as any of them. For a moment he hesitated, on seeing the young naval officer, but, emboldened by Mr. Fox's disguised appearance, he took up a position where he could hear all that was being said. "I canna think what had put the revenue men on the track o' the smugglers," a fisherman was saying. "Surely if any man carried the game on secretly it was Harry Ewan." "What's to hinder them finding out?" said Jack Paterson. "Why, I ken'd it lang syne, though it isna ony business o' mine to ken." "Ah!" put in Lothian, with the air of one who was well acquainted with the subject, "it's not the most cautious that are least suspected o' breakin' the law. Now, I ken a man that not one here would suspect, an' he has been carryin' on the business underhand this many a day. But tak' my word for it, the fox has his eye on him for all that, and it isna long before he'll be dropped on the same as Harry Ewan." Lieutenant Fox stepped a little nearer to the speakers. "Oho!" exclaimed Jack Paterson; "and who may that be now, Colin?" "Weel," replied the wanderer, "it isna for me just to say, though I wouldna lift a hand to save ony smuggling rogue. But I ken o' a fine hole in the face o' the clifts o' Gaulton, that would suit a smuggler grandly for stowing away a few casks o' whisky in. Sandy Ericson was another that ken'd it. But Sandy was an honest man." "What!" said Paterson; "d'ye mean the cave that Sandy found Carver Kinlay in, after the wreck o' the Undine?" "Ay," said Colin. "Then Kinlay kens o' the cave?" continued Jack. "Doubtless," said Colin. David Flett raised his eyebrows at this, and I thought of his conversation with the pilot. "It's no' possible that Carver has ony hand in the smuggling, is it, Colin?" he observed. "Weel, captain, I wonldna like to assert publicly that Carver is a smuggler himself," said Colin; "but I shouldna be surprised though it turn out as I suspect." "It's a lie ye tell!" furiously exclaimed Tom Kinlay, suddenly revealing himself, and shaking his fist in Lothian's face. "It's a lie ye tell, ye drivelling auld idiot! And if ye canna prove what ye say, maybe ye'll deny it?" Colin Lothian stood up and said coolly: "Now just hold yer tongue, Kinlay. I ken mair then I hae said. And as to denyin' it, that I willna do. Nay, threaten as ye will, I carena. What I say is perfectly true. Carver Kinlay's a smuggler!" Tom Kinlay bit the stem of his clay pipe so hard that it broke in his mouth, so great was his rage. Then, as though words of denial were of no use, he took to the more cowardly argument of violence, and, hissing the words, "Ye auld liar, take that," raised his hand, and struck a blow at Colin Lothian's face. But Jack Paterson knocked up the lad's arm, and caught Tom round the waist, dragging him forcibly away. "What! ye young scamp, would ye strike an auld man?" he said. And he raised Tom Kinlay in his strong arms high in air, and almost threw him out at the open door. "That was smartly done, my man," said Lieutenant Fox. "I wish we had a few such fellows as you aboard the Clasper." And thus revealing himself, the officer finished his drink and leisurely left us. "Who's that chap just gone out?" asked Paterson. "It's Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper," I said. "If that be so, then," said Colin, "it seems to me he has gone away wiser than he came." "Ay," said Paterson; "it's no use wonderin' how the revenue lads get to ken about the smugglers, if that be the way they set about it." Shortly afterwards we went aboard the Falcon, and the rest of the day was spent in cleaning up after the voyage, and in balancing our accounts. In this latter occupation I think my assistance was not without value to Davie Flett, whose system of bookkeeping was original and peculiar, involving a large use of hieroglyphics, which were not always clear even to the skipper himself. That evening when I tramped over the moor to Lyndardy the snow fell heavily--a driving, drifting snow that penetrated into every cranny it had access to, and collected in deep wreaths on meadow and moor. The cold wind blew hard from the north, carrying the fine snow past me in great clouds that curled and swept along the hard ground, forming in some places high barriers that were almost impassable, in other places leaving the ground perfectly bare. Chapter XXXV. A Search And A Discovery. All through that night the snow fell unceasingly, and the drifts grew deeper and deeper in the hollows. At bedtime, after our chapter from the Bible had been read, my mother barred the door, and said: "Let us be thankful, bairns, that we are all at home this night. I couldna sleep in my bed if I thought there was kith or kin o' mine outside on such a night o' blind drift. It's just terrible." And I think we all slept the more comfortably, feeling that we knew of no one who was suffering in the storm. Some hours before daylight, while I lay dreaming in my cosy box bed, I was awakened by hearing a rapping noise. I listened, fancying it was but the noise of some rat behind the wainscot that had come for shelter into the warm house; but the loud knocking came again. I hurriedly drew on some clothes and opened the outer door. A wild gust of wind and snow swished in upon me, and in the deep snow outside there stood a woman holding a lighted lantern. "Please d'ye ken anything about Thora Kinlay?" said she; and I recognized Ann, the servant woman of Crua Breck. "Anything about Thora?" I asked, surprised at the inquiry. "Why, Ann, what's gone wrong wi' her?" "We're feared she's lost," said the woman. "She went outby in the forenoon, and she hasna come back yet." "Did she not say where she was going to?" I asked. "No; and we've heard nothing o' her. We canna think what can hae come ower her." "But where are Carver and Tom, and the boat's crew?" I asked. "Have they not been out seeking for the lass?" "No; they're all away in the St. Magnus; and the mistress is ill in her bed. The shepherd and me has been seekin' Thora all the night, and I've come to Lyndardy, thinkin' ye might hae seen her yestreen." "No; I havena seen Thora these nine or ten weeks past," I said. "But if she be out in this storm she must be looked for; so bide here a wee, Ann, and I'll come out and help ye." I thereupon hastened within for my sea boots and oilskins. I had next to procure a lantern from the byre; and this was somewhat difficult, for the snow had drifted in a high bank against the door, and I had to remove it before I could effect an entrance. Lighting the lantern, and taking down my long staff, I noticed that my climbing lines had been taken from the peg where they usually hung. My gun, too, was amissing. No one but myself had any use for either the ropes or the gun, and I thought it curious that they were removed; but at the moment I did not concern myself about so apparently trivial a circumstance. I soon rejoined the woman, and with her I made diligent search for Thora. Backward and forward we tramped for many weary miles in the wind and snow. We went by every road and footpath that we knew, yet not even a footmark but our own could we find. I questioned Ann and the shepherd, who had joined us, as to where they had searched before I came out. The shepherd had been to a cottage where lived an old woman named Mary Firth, but Mary was not at home, and there was no one in the cottage--no trace of Thora. "Has either o' ye been across at Jack Paterson's croft?" I then asked. "No," said the shepherd. "Weel, then, that's the only place she can have been to, that I can think of. So you two had better get back to Crua Breck and wait till daylight. I'll gang to Jack Paterson's, and if they ken nothing of Thora there, we can only wait till the morning." The two returned to the farm, therefore, and I tramped through the storm to the croft of Clouston, past the ghostly standing stones of the Druids, and along the dreary, snow-covered road. The cottage was in darkness, with a great drift of snow against the door. I knocked with my stick several times, and presently I heard Jack Paterson's gruff voice demanding who was there. "It's me, Halcro Ericson. Open the door, Jack." "Save us all!" he exclaimed, raising the bolt. "What brings ye out on a night like this, lad? Come inside." "No; I'm seeking for Thora Kinlay; d'ye ken anything about her; she's lost!" "Lost! No; I ken nothing o' her. But wait and I'll see the bairns." He returned to the door in a few minutes. "Hilda says that Thora was here yestreen," he said. "But she went away to Crua Breck when the snow came on so bad." I was dismayed at his answer, for it seemed to prove to me that Thora was really lost in the snow. Paterson offered to continue the search with me, but I advised him to dress and go to Stromness, and make inquiries in the town, while I left him and returned to Lyndardy, always searching for footprints on the snow. At dawn I resumed the search with my sister Jessie. We first went to Crua Breck to make sure that Thora had not yet returned. We heard that Mrs. Kinlay was very ill now, and that Ann could not leave her. We returned by the top of the cliffs, where the snow was shallow, but nothing rewarded our search until we got as far as North Gaulton, where we observed what appeared to be footprints crossing our path. They were indistinct, for the wind had disturbed the snow; but they were indeed footprints, and we followed them. They led us to the brink of the cliff, to the very spot where Thora and I had, many weeks before, gone over to descend to the cave. "Somebody has gone over here, Hal," said Jessie. "Look down on that jag of rock, there is the mark of a rope!" And at once I remembered about the disappearance of my climbing lines. I looked to where Jessie pointed, and sure enough there were the marks of a rope, where it had disturbed the snow and grazed against the frosted stone. There was no rope hanging there, but I well knew that it could have been removed from below by means of a few dexterous jerks and twitches. I reasoned with myself upon what I saw, and I considered that the person who had gone down the cliff could be none other than Thora, for I believed that none but she knew of that way down to the cave. Only she and Tom Kinlay knew that I kept my climbing ropes in the byre; but Tom had, as Ann told me, gone out in the St. Magnus. Only Thora could have taken them, then. What her possible reason for going down to the cave might be, I did not pause to reflect, further than surmising the probability of her having had some quarrel with her father, and of her having run away from Crua Breck as she had once threatened to do. But why do this on such a night of storm? The first thing to be done was to ascertain beyond doubt if Thora was now in the cave. Had it been expedient, I would at once have gone over the cliff, notwithstanding its frozen condition. Unfortunately, however, I had no other good rope than the one that had been taken away. An old one I had which was neither long enough nor strong enough for the purpose; but even this might be of service, I thought. We went back to the farm, and Jessie helped me to lengthen the rope by joining to it several shorter pieces. Then, judging that Thora, if she were in the cavern, would be suffering from want of food, we got a small basket and stored it with tempting eatables--some newly-made scones, two hard-boiled eggs, and a closed flagon filled with hot tea. Thus prepared we went together through the snow to the cliff. Whilst I was tying the rope to the handle of our basket, Jessie gathered some stones and threw them down the precipice to attract Thora's attention to the mouth of the cave. I stood out on the brink of the cliff above the cavern and allowed the line to slip through my fingers as though I were "heaving the lead," until the basket touched upon the rock at the entrance to the cave. For several minutes we waited for some sign that the food was accepted. Twice the line was drawn up a little, and the weight of the basket was still felt. I called for more stones to throw down, at the same time kicking a loose piece of rock well out, so that it fell with a loud splash into the deep water. Jessie went about picking up stones from among the snow, when suddenly an exclamation escaped her. "Eh, Hal!" said she; "why here's your magic stone!" "Impossible!" I exclaimed, unable to believe her. "I tell you it is, indeed!" she protested; and she brought the stone to me, holding it in the palm of her hand. I at once recognized the viking's talisman. And now I felt sure that Thora was in the cave, and that she had probably dropped the stone by some accident before going over the brink of the cliff, for it was at the very edge that Jessie found it. When I tried the rope again, I felt that the basket was being held. Then the line was drawn further down, and again set loose, and I drew it up. The basket had been emptied. In the afternoon, as the snow had abated, I went out, though without stating my intention, and returned to the top of the cliff, determined upon making the descent to the cave and hearing from Thora her reason for this strange freak of hers, before venturing to inform them at Crua Breck that I had discovered the girl's hiding place. The danger of a descent was very great, for the face of the rocks was in parts coated with frozen snow, and I knew that besides the difficulty of climbing with cold hands there was the possibility of slipping upon the icy surface of the ledges. But now I had my viking stone to protect me, and with less hesitation than the occasion warranted I proceeded to climb down the precipice, and was fortunate enough to reach the bottom without accident. Lighting a small lantern I had brought, I walked into the cavern, thinking it strange that I saw no trace of Thora at the entrance, for I had made noise enough to attract her. Yet I noticed the flagon that had held the warm tea we had sent down in the morning lying empty on a flat stone. I continued my way further into the cavern, watching the play of light upon the huge stalactites that hung from the roof. At last I came to the stream in which Thora had so nearly lost her life. It was swollen, and rushed past with great force. At one point a kind of bridge had been formed by a couple of wooden planks that had been thrown across. Over this bridge I crossed, turning my lantern to right and left, anxiously looking for Thora, whom I also called by name. Beyond the little bridge I was sensible of a strong spirituous smell, and this became still stronger as I advanced, until, when I held my light towards a side chamber of the cave I discerned a large number of small kegs. At once I thought of what Colin Lothian had said the day before in Gray's Inn about smuggled whisky. Here, then, I had discovered the secret store of some unlawful trader. But my surprise at this soon abated in my anxiety to find Thora. I was continuing my way yet further when my foot touched something strange. I turned my light upon it, and there, lying before me, was the sleeping form, not of Thora, but of Tom Kinlay. Chapter XXXVI. Trapped In The Cave. I stood for some moments transfixed with surprise at seeing Tom Kinlay in this situation. He was lying with his head and shoulders upon a square box and snoring loudly. Behind him were piled up many kegs, which I doubted not were filled with contraband spirits. As I reasoned on all this I surmised that Tom was there probably by the directions of his father, whom, after what I had heard and seen, I could not but associate with the smugglers. I now, for the first time, saw also some shade of reason for the enmity that had existed between Carver and my father. At the time of the wreck of the Undine, years before, when he was stranded in the cavern, Carver had no doubt seen the convenience of the place for smuggling purposes. The cave was commodious, and the fact that its situation was little known among the natives gave it the additional advantage of secrecy. I could not tell whether Kinlay had carried on his illicit traffic whilst my father was alive, but I guessed that this was so; and believing that my father was the only man who knew his secret, I saw reason sufficient for enmity. My father's death had removed the one great obstacle in the way of Carver's carrying on the smuggling unsuspected. It had also enabled him to become a pilot--a position which gave unusual opportunity to a man so unscrupulous. As pilot he was able to board any vessel that entered the Orcadian waters, and in the case of ships which came over from the Continent or from the north of Scotland with contraband goods, a transfer of cargo could be boldly effected without exciting suspicion. And here in the cave I saw before me a part of the smuggler's store. Having explored the cavern by the light of my lantern, I was forced to believe that Thora was not there. I returned once more to the kegs of spirits before departing. Tom was still sound asleep. Approaching him, I turned the light upon him and knelt down, shielding the light from his closed eyes. Suddenly I was alarmed by hearing the noise of voices at the outer part of the cave--the voices of many men. I blew out the light of my lantern, rose to my feet, and slipped into the shadow to watch, for I did not doubt that these were the smugglers. I had not stood there very long before I observed a flickering of lights, and the sound of men's feet and voices came nearer and nearer. Then I saw the lights of two lanterns, and distinguished the figures of five men. Their sea jackets were powdered with snow. "Now, lads," said a hoarse voice that I recognized as Carver Kinlay's, "look smart. Get as many as ye can into the boat, then roll the others into the water." His eyes rested upon the sleeping form of his son. "Hullo!" he cried, "why, here is the young devil after all!" Then, crossing the plank bridge, he gave Tom a heavy kick in the ribs, and placed his lantern on the top of one of the casks. Tom awoke with a start, and I saw him tremble as in fear. His face was ghastly white. "Where have ye been all night?" growled his father, without waiting for an answer; "hurry along here and help to get these kegs into the boat." Young Kinlay rose and staggered after the men. Evidently he had broached one of the whisky kegs. I drew closer within the shadow of the rock and watched the proceedings. The smugglers carried away one by one as many of the spirit kegs as I believed might lie in the bottom of the St. Magnus. This was done in a great hurry as though much depended upon getting the things cleared away, and Carver was for ever urging his men to "hurry up!" Then they all set to work, and rolled what remained of the casks into the stream, until, after about an hour's time, there was left no trace of the smuggler's store, excepting only the square box that Tom had slept upon. Carver Kinlay knelt down beside this chest and unlocked it. He turned over many bundles of papers, and I saw him take out what appeared to be a roll of bank notes and thrust them into his breast pocket. He paused suddenly in his work at the hurried return of his men, and grasped at the box like a miser suddenly surprised. "The hounds are on us!" exclaimed one excitedly. "They have taken the boat!" And almost immediately there was a tramp of feet coming up the cavern, and a blaze of light from several torches shining on drawn cutlasses. Kinlay turned with the fury of a wild animal that finds itself trapped, and stood at bay before a company of blue jackets, who were headed by the young officer I had twice before met, Lieutenant Fox of the revenue cutter Clasper. "In the Queen's name, I arrest you, Carver Kinlay!" said the officer in a firm, loud voice. "Not so easily," said Kinlay, who was evidently determined not to surrender himself without resistance; and planting one foot firmly on the little bridge which spanned the stream, he drew a large revolver and pointed it full at the lieutenant's head. Standing very near to him, in a dark crevice at his right hand, I saw the movement. I saw Carver's eyes flash in the torchlight, and just as the click of the trigger sounded I sprang quickly forward and knocked the man's hand upward. The shot rattled among the stalactites of the roof, and the report filled the cavern with deafening noise. Kinlay was utterly taken aback by what happened, and as the weapon fell from his hand and dropped into the deep water, he turned instinctively to see who had attacked him. Two of the cutter's men thereupon crossed the planks and encountered him on the large flat rock whence the casks had been taken, while I made my way past them. I was walking coolly over the little bridge, with my extinguished lantern in my hand, when the lieutenant stepped forward and took me by the collar. "Aha, youngster!" he exclaimed, "I've seen you before. You've done me a good turn, but I must take you nevertheless." And he retained his hold of my jacket, giving directions to his men the while. I made a gentle protest, showing no resistance, and stood by the officer, looking excitedly at the scuffle that ensued between the smugglers and the revenue men. Tom Kinlay had already been seized and dragged off to the cutter's boat. One of the smugglers had retreated to the inner recesses of the cave, taking refuge in the darkness, and the three others were having a severe fight with the sailors, using large knives in their defence. Two of them were speedily overpowered, one of them receiving a serious wound in his side, the other a great cut across his cheek. They were both taken to the boat, and there kept under strict guard. The third man managed to get over to Kinlay. Carver, on losing his pistol, had taken out his sheath knife, and armed with this he fought with furious determination, standing with his back against a wall of rock. One of his antagonists, in trying to lay hold of his hand, was badly cut, and the other disabled by a blow in the face. But when Carver was joined by his comrade there was a rush of the cutter's men across the bridge, and the smugglers were finally conquered. They had yet to be brought over to the outer side of the stream, however, and this was a work of no small difficulty. A couple of the sailors walked over the narrow planks, one before and one behind their prisoner, who made an unsuccessful attempt to break loose. Then Carver was brought to the bridge in a similar manner; and he also attempted to escape by making a spring forward when he reached the middle of the planks. His captors, however, were ready for him. The man behind him had held his two hands, and when by main force he got his right hand free, the sailor held with such a tight grip to the other that Carver was pulled round and he overbalanced himself. A stiff struggle for mastery then took place. Kinlay was the stronger man, and with his free hand he dealt the sailor a hard blow on the chest. The sailor staggered and fell across the narrow planks, but still holding Kinlay's left hand he pulled the pilot smuggler down with him. The sailor let his hand go free. Then Kinlay tripped, and, uttering a wild yell, fell headlong into the rushing stream. The lieutenant, seeing what had happened, loosened his grasp of my collar and hurried over to his men to try to save Carver from the dreadful current. One of the wooden planks was thrown into the water for him to take hold of, but Carver must have failed in his attempt to reach it. One of the cutter's men ran to the mouth of the cave and brought back with him a long rope--my own climbing rope--which he had seen lying on the rocks: this also was too late, for Carver was already carried off by the swift stream, no doubt to be taken over into that gulf where Thora had so nearly lost her life. There now remained only one other of the smugglers to be captured, and he was ultimately discovered crouching like a terrified dog in a dark corner. Before the revenue men left, however, they made a careful search of the cavern; but they brought nothing down to the boat excepting the wooden box that Kinlay had been searching in when he was surprised by the arrival of the blue jackets. When this excitement was over, and the lieutenant had ordered his men to return to their boat, I was wondering what their movements would be in regard to myself. Would they leave me to climb the cliff and go home, or would they take me round to Stromness? I was not left long in doubt. Two of the sailors, still with drawn cutlasses, took me into the bow of the longboat and placed me there beside Tom Kinlay and the other prisoners, and bound me to them with my own rope. Then the lieutenant took his seat in the stern sheets, his men plied their oars, and we were taken out to the cutter, which lay anchored a few fathoms out from the rocks. We were all taken aboard of her. Her white canvas was hoisted and her anchor weighed, and soon we were speeding blithely along in the direction of Stromness, with the St. Magnus towed astern. Chapter XXXVII. In Which I Am Put Under Arrest. When we were well under weigh, and I had done admiring the cutter's trim fittings and the smartness of her men, I turned to consider the condition of my unfortunate companions. Two of them were badly wounded, and they were ordered to be taken below to have their wounds dressed, whilst the others were now being placed in irons. They were bound hand and foot to a gun carriage. Tom Kinlay, who was beside me under the starboard bulwarks, watched the men with consternation in his face. He was evidently very much afraid. I saw him put his hand to his breast as though he felt there for something. I thought he was searching for some weapon; but whatever it was he did not find it. He opened his coat and still searched. "Hang it!" he exclaimed, "I must have lost it;" and then he looked at me accusingly. Somehow I thought just then of my viking's stone that I had recovered so strangely, and as I took it from my pocket and assured myself that it was all safe, I began to wonder how it had come to be left there at the top of the cliff. How had Thora allowed it to go out of her keeping? And Thora, where now was she? Suddenly I felt a warm breath on my face. I turned and saw Tom Kinlay glaring at me. "Ah! it is you," he exclaimed; "you've stolen it from me!" And he made a grab at the stone, which fell from my hand upon the deck, for the string had been taken from it, and I had consequently not been able to hang it round my neck. We both scrambled upon the deck, each eager to secure the talisman. But I managed to push Kinlay away, and picking up the stone I put it safely in my breast pocket just as two of the cutter's men came towards us. "Now, then, youngster," said one of them, taking Tom by the shoulder, "it's your turn now, my lad;" and he proceeded to adjust a pair of handcuffs upon Tom's wrists. At the same time the other sailor came to me and was in the act of binding me in a similar manner when Lieutenant Fox came forward from the after deck. "Hold hard, Gillions!" he said. "This youngster needn't be treated like the others, I think. Leave him to me;" and addressing me he asked, "What is your name, my lad?" "Halcro Ericson, sir," I replied. "Well, Ericson, tell me, how came you to be mixed up in this affair? I thought I saw you on board that coasting schooner, the Falcon, the other night. Have you turned smuggler since then?" "No, sir; I was in the cave for something else. I was down seeking for Thora." "For Thora? What's that--some sort of birds?" "Birds! No; for the lass that was lost in the snow yestreen." "Queer place to look for a lass, that, I must say! But how did you get there if you did not go round with Kinlay?" "I climbed down the cliff, sir." "Come, come, none of your nonsense!" said the officer. "Don't tell me you climbed down that cliff. I know it's impossible." "It's not impossible," I rejoined, "for I have climbed it many a time before." "Well, it's to be hoped the girl was worth risking your neck for. However, as you did not find her after all, you deserve to get off, to look for her in a more likely place." Then turning to the seaman he said: "Off with the irons, Gillions, and put the youngster ashore when the anchor's down." "Ay, ay, sir!" said Gillions. Accordingly I was set free; and seeing my rope lying on the deck I coiled it up ready to take ashore with me, taking it aft to the gangway. We were by this time abreast of the Ness and entering Stromness Bay. Notwithstanding the continued falling of snow, several boats put out from the jetties of the harbour when the Clasper was seen sailing in with her prize; and as the chains, rattled over her bow and she came to an anchorage close inshore, she was surrounded by inquiring fisher folk. In one of the first boats that came alongside sat Bailie Duke wrapped in a great gray plaid. He hailed one of the petty officers of the cutter, and Mr. Fox came forward and asked him aboard. "What's all this about?" said Mr. Duke, addressing the lieutenant as he stepped on the deck. "I see ye've made a prisoner of our pilot." "I've made prisoner of a smuggler, sir, pilot or not pilot," said Mr. Fox. "But on whose authority have you taken the St. Magnus? Do you not know that she is our pilot boat?" asked the bailie. "On the highest authority, Mr. Duke--the Queen's," replied the lieutenant. "If Kinlay was your pilot, then all the greater was his offence. His men must suffer the penalty for their crime, and I suppose the port must just appoint another pilot, that's all." "His men must suffer, you say?" said Mr. Duke, not understanding. "Then you do not accuse Carver Kinlay himself of smuggling?" "I should certainly have done that, Mr. Duke; but Carver Kinlay, unfortunately, is dead." "Carver Kinlay dead!" exclaimed the bailie. "Yes; he lost his life just now in the Gaulton Cave, where we discovered him and his crew in the act of carrying off contraband spirits. "I suppose," the officer continued, "we can send the prisoners ashore to your jail, sir?" "Certainly," said Mr. Duke; "we've plenty of room there: send them ashore. But they will be tried at Kirkwall, not here, you know." "I know," returned the officer; "but you see the roads are blocked with this snow. There's no getting to Kirkwall except by sea, and I have another little affair of this sort on hand tonight." Bailie Duke was naturally inquisitive, and at the mention of this other "little affair" he pricked up his ears. The lieutenant drew him to the other side of the deck, and they both remained there in earnest conversation. Mr. Duke had his back towards me. He had not observed me as yet. But the cutter's boat was being got out to take me ashore, and as I was anxious to hear from him whether Thora had been found, I walked across and waited until he should turn round. As I stood there I heard my own name mentioned. "Oh, it's just as clear as daylight!" said the magistrate, in reply to a question from Mr. Fox. "I have traced it all out. There is little doubt that it was young Halcro Ericson that did it." "Halcro Ericson! What! the boy Halcro Ericson?" exclaimed the lieutenant with undisguised surprise. "Why, then, that accounts for our finding him hiding in the cave! I would never have thought it." "What!" said the bailie. "You don't mean you have got the lad?" "Yes, I do, sir; that is if you have no other natives with the same outlandish name. He's on board, I assure you. Ay, and here he is." The officer turned round towards me where I stood with my lantern in one hand, and the coil of rope over my shoulder. Bailie Duke looked at me with a frown on his brow, and his eyes were steadily fixed upon my face, which could only have reflected the innocence of my heart. "I cannot believe it," he said in an undertone; "and yet the thing's so clear." Then he laid a hand sternly on my shoulder, and said, "Ericson, my lad, I'm really sorry; but, you see, there's no use evadin' the hand o' the law, and I must make you my prisoner." "Your prisoner, Mr. Duke! But you cannot think that I have anything to do with the smuggling?" "Smuggling!" said he. "I said nothing about smuggling. With that I have no business. No, it's not the smuggling, it's the murder!" "Murder! What murder?" I gasped. "The murder of Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar," he said. Colin Lothian murdered! I was stunned and perplexed by these terrible words. But, without further explanation, Mr. Duke gave orders to some men in the boat he had come out by to make a prisoner of me. Two men came aboard and bound my arms about me with my own rope, and conducted me into the boat, while the bailie got down into the stern, where he sat ruminating as we were rowed towards the landing pier. I was marched between two guards up the narrow street of Stromness, and the cold snow fell down upon me. At the doors of the houses women and children, whose faces were all so familiar, looked at me, some with pity, some with shrinking fear. I heard strange utterances of accusation. "Who would have thought it, that he could hae done such a thing?" said one. "See how the lad hangs his head!" said another. "Ay, but it's a young murderer he is," said a third. And this word "murderer" sounded in my ears from every side, and much I wondered what it all could mean. When we arrived at the door of the prison house a crowd of the townspeople awaited us. I looked round the faces fearlessly, and in their midst I recognized the wrinkled face of my skipper, Davie Flett. "Cheer up, my hearty!" said he, as I passed by him. "We'll not heave anchor till ye come out; and you'll not be long, I'll warrant." But I confess it was difficult for me to feel cheerful at that moment. Indeed, when the prison doors closed upon me, when I found myself alone in my dark cell, I became dazed and stupid, and began to think that perhaps after all I was the murderer that I had been called. Yet what could it all mean? Colin Lothian murdered! My old friend Colin Lothian! Chapter XXXVIII. Accused Of Murder. I need not prolong my narrative by telling you in what way I spent that first night in the cold solitude of my prison cell, or by recording the thoughts that occupied my mind through those long and weary hours. My jailer, one Jimmy Macfarlane, an honest, kind-hearted man, who had known my father, gave me a basin of hot porridge before he locked me up for the night, and left with me, as though by accident, a good, thick horse cloth to keep me warm. Conscious of my innocence, and trusting in the justice of my accusers, I slept well and soundly, nor did I awake until late on the following morning, when the Sabbath light stole through the crossbars of the little window, and the opening of the door aroused me. I heard Macfarlane speaking with some one. "Ye'll find him in here, captain; but dinna stay ower long wi' him; for, ye ken, I'm breakin' the rule in letting ye see the lad." "All right, Jimmy!" said a voice that I at once recognized as that of Captain Flett. "Well, Ericson, my lad," he said, entering the cell and offering me his hand. "They've not put the hangman's rope round your neck yet, I see." Then he added in a more serious tone, "Come, I canna stay with you long. Let us talk the affair over, and see what's to be done." "First of all then," I said, "I want to know what it's all about. Why have they put me in here?" "What! have they not told you the particulars?" "No; I know nothing but that old Colin Lothian has been murdered." "And ye dinna ken who it was that murdered him? Tell me the truth now." "I know nothing at all about it," I said. "Well, then, I'll just tell you all that I know myself, Ericson." And sitting down beside me on an old box that was in the cell, the skipper proceeded with his account of the affair, of which the following is the substance. On the afternoon following that of the beginning of the snowstorm, Captain Flett waited for me on the schooner, for he wanted to set sail again. Every now and then he went up the companion ladder to look out for me towards the snow-covered town. While thus engaged he heard the boatswain's whistle sounded on board the revenue cutter, then lying in the outer bay, and he was admiring the alertness of the blue jackets as they got the cutter ready for sailing, when a small boat that he had not noticed came alongside of the Falcon, and Bailie Duke accosted him. "Captain Flett," said the bailie excitedly, "I want the lad Ericson; where is he?" "'Deed I can't tell you that, your honour," replied Flett. "I have been waiting for him here mysel' all the day." "Just as I expected," said the bailie, with evident annoyance; "the young rascal has escaped. When did you last see him, captain?" "I saw him yestreen, sir. But was it anything of importance you're wanting the lad for?" "Anything of importance! Ay, is it of importance! For, know you this, Captain Flett, the lad's nothing but a murderer, a murderer in cold blood!" "Impossible!" ejaculated the skipper. "When heard you of the lad harming body or beast? But who is it that's murdered, bailie?" "Colin Lothian, the gaberlunzie," replied the magistrate. "Man, you astonish me," exclaimed Flett. "Poor auld Lothian! And when did the thing happen?" Bailie Duke then told how during that morning a party of men had been sent up from the town to the moor to search for the lost Thora Kinlay. They did not find the girl. But Jack Paterson and another fisherman, while crossing a very lonely part of the moor, had discovered a poor dog, whose pitiful whining had drawn them to the spot. The animal was at once recognized as the dog that had always been seen at the heels of the wandering beggar, and it stood shivering in the cold snow that had gathered there in a deep wreath. The dog refused to move from the spot, and the men cleared away some of the snow, when they came upon the stiff and lifeless body of Colin Lothian. At first they thought the man was merely asleep, for his woollen plaid was spread over him like a blanket. But on raising the garment they saw marks of blood that had trickled upon the snow and sunk down into the underlying heather. Paterson at once despatched his companion to Stromness for Dr. Linklater, whilst he himself went up to a small cottage which stood about two hundred yards away. Nobody was in the cottage, but there were signs of some one having been there very recently, for the peats were yet smouldering on the hearthstone, and on a little table lay a towel stained with blood. Dr. Linklater arrived sooner than Paterson expected him, and after a careful examination of the body he stated that Lothian had been dead several hours, and that his death was the result of foul play. The man had, in fact, been murdered. "I'm real sorry to hear this, sir," said Flett to the bailie. "It was only yestreen I was speakin' wi' poor Colin at the inn. He'll be sorely missed in the countryside. But tell me, Mr. Duke, what for d'ye say that young Ericson has anything to do wi' it?" "Because," the magistrate replied, "simply because the gun that the man was shot with was found near the spot where he died. That gun, captain, is identified as Halcro Ericson's." "But surely ye canna convict the lad on such slight evidence, sir. He's innocent, I'll swear!" "I trust he may prove so, captain. But you must allow that the evidence is against him. Colin has been shot dead, and with Ericson's gun. Ericson is not to be found; no one knows where he is. That is clearly against him; and as a magistrate I am bound to arrest him on suspicion. In fact, I have already issued a warrant for his arrest, and if you know anything of his whereabouts, just say so, Davie; for the lad's not at his home, and his mother knows nothing. They say he is out seeking for young Thora Kinlay; but it seems clear to me that he has fled from the consequences of his foul crime." "Well," said Flett, "I have told you all I know, that the lad left the schooner here before the snow came on so heavy. I have been expecting him aboard all the day. I know no more, Mr. Duke, and that's the truth." At this point of my skipper's account we were interrupted by Macfarlane, who put his head in at the door and said: "Come away, Davie. I canna let ye stay longer, man." "Ay, ay, just another minute, Jimmy," said Flett. Then turning to me again, he continued: "Weel, I'm just away up to Dominie Drever's. The dominie was aboard the Falcon just before the Clasper came in yestreen, and I saw him again after ye were brought here. He was up at Lyndardy this mornin' seeing your mother for information about all your movements these two days past. And now I'm to go up to the schoolhouse and tell him--what shall I tell him, Halcro?" "Just tell him this, Davie: that the last time I saw poor Colin Lothian was when we were in Gray's Inn. That I went straight home from the Falcon, and never left the house till the servant woman at Crua Breck knocked me up to seek for Thora. That I was out looking for her part of the night and all the morning, and then that I climbed down the Gaulton Cliff, thinking I would find her in the cave. There, instead of finding Thora, I was taken along with the smugglers and brought in the Clasper to Stromness, where Bailie Duke himself arrested me. "There, that is the sum of it all. Tell it to Mr. Drever, and he will believe it and understand." "Very good," said the skipper, and then he left me. He had not gone out many minutes before Jimmy Macfarlane came into the apartment and made a fire in the grate, and brought me water to wash myself, and a good breakfast of coffee and fried bacon. When I was made comfortable he left me alone again, and only disturbed me during the rest of the day to bring in my meals or more fuel for the fire. Chapter XXXIX. An Unprofessional Inquiry. Whatever the common opinion among the people of Stromness may have been with regard to the death of Colin Lothian, there was one who, all along, never allowed himself to doubt my innocence. Dominie Drever had his private views on the matter, and he was not over eager to communicate them to other persons. He even kept them from myself in a great measure, and only gathered such information regarding my movements as Captain Flett and my people at Lyndardy were able to supply. There were some other aspects of the case, quite apart from myself, that he was anxious to make clear, and with this purpose in view he had gone quietly about the town gathering evidence and summoning an array of important witnesses. Not until late on this Sunday afternoon did he come to see me; and then our interview lasted but for a few moments. Macfarlane showed him in just as I was finishing my tea and settling myself cosily before the fire. "Ah, Halcro, my lad!" he exclaimed in his breezy way, "I see they are making you comfortable here. I hope you find it no great hardship to be cooped up here, eh? It's hardly so bad as your experience on the Falcon, I should think?" "No, sir, and I hope it will not last so long either," I said, taking the hand he offered me. "Little fear o' that," said he. "Mr. Duke will send you home i' the morning; but it's as well you should stay here until the evidence is complete. Bailie Thomson will not agree to your being set at liberty before the inquiry." "And when is the inquiry to be?" I asked. "At ten o'clock tomorrow morning," said Mr. Drever. "You see, Halcro, they're not to put you on your trial in any formal way. That could only take place at Kirkwall, or before the procurator fiscal. But the roads are all blocked wi' snow, and there's no getting to Kirkwall just now. Even the St. Magnus smugglers, and another gang that Mr. Fox arrested yestreen up at Sandwick, have to be imprisoned here until the roads are opened up. But it will be easy to prove your innocence. Thora will make that perfectly clear, as ye will see." "Thora!" I exclaimed. "Then Thora has been found?" "Found! certainly. She never was lost. However, ye'll hear all about that matter again. Just leave it all to me, Halcro, and dinna be downcast about biding here another night. But I must away now. Good e'en to ye!" "Good e'en, sir!" The good man was leaving me abruptly, when at the door he turned back. "Oh, Halcro!" said he, as though suddenly remembering something, "they tell me that your viking's stone has been amissing. Have ye heard anything of it yet?" "Why, yes, Mr. Drever," I replied. "I found it at the head of the Gaulton Cliff on Saturday." "Just so," said he smiling, "I had heard that. Now that stone may be wanted in evidence. Would you mind letting me have it?" "Here it is, sir," I said, handing it to him. And taking it with him, he left me to my thoughts. The morning of the inquiry came round, and at about ten o'clock Jimmy Macfarlane opened the door of my place of confinement and beckoned me to follow him. He conducted me through a long passage into a large room adjoining the prison house. It was a comfortable apartment, with a bright peat fire burning on the hearth, before which Colin Lothian's dog lay sound asleep. Close to the fire and athwart the room was a long table, where, as I entered, I saw Bailie Duke seated at his ease in a large armchair. At his right sat Bailie Thomson--a man with a forbidding face, whom I had often of late seen in the company of Carver Kinlay. At Mr. Duke's left hand was the schoolmaster, prim and businesslike as I had often seen him look in the school when anything of importance was pending, such as a class examination. Near him sat Lieutenant Fox, looking very handsome in his naval uniform, and very much at his ease. The only other person in the room was Dr. Linklater, who smiled a greeting to me as I stood at the door. "Take a seat there, Ericson, my lad," said Mr. Duke, indicating a chair opposite to him in the middle of the floor. And then he turned to the dominie, speaking with him in an undertone. These five men, who were all in different degrees known to me, presented no very formal aspect, and I felt no dread of what was to follow. As I sat there awaiting the opening of the proceedings I looked straight before me at the long table. Here, lying in front of the two bailies, were my fowling piece and a coil of rope. Before Mr. Drever lay Jarl Haffling's talisman; also, to my surprise, I observed the wooden box that I had seen in the cave, and the little chest that I had taken from the chart room of the Pilgrim; on the lid of the latter was the log book of that ill-fated ship. What these relics of the Pilgrim could possibly have to do with the murder of Colin Lothian I was at a loss to know. But their importance in the issue of the case will presently be seen. "Halcro Ericson!" said Bailie Duke. I rose to my feet and faced him. He tapped his snuffbox and took a large pinch, and leisurely passed the box to the dominie. Presently, after much use of his bandanna handkerchief, he continued: "Halcro Ericson, you were arrested on Saturday last on suspicion of being the murderer of Colin Lothian--a poor, worthy man, known and respected in the Mainland for many, many years. At the time of your arrest on board the Clasper, the evidence against you was circumstantially complete, and appeared to be conclusive. Further evidence of an important nature, however, has since been gathered by Mr. Drever here, and it has brought new light upon the matter. You are not, I am happy to say, to be formally charged with the murder of Lothian; but, in the absence of the proper official--the procurator fiscal--it is necessary that I, as the senior bailie of Stromness, should make some inquiry into this case, you see. You will presently be examined with other witnesses, and you will have an opportunity of, I hope, clearing yourself of whatever suspicion is still attached to you. Sit down again, Halcro." Concluding this speech, Mr. Duke rang a little hand bell that was on the table, and Macfarlane appeared at one of the doors. "Just send in Jack Paterson and Steenie Barrie," he said; and presently the two fishermen were ushered in. Paterson, entering first, touched his forelock to the magistrate, and similarly saluted Lieutenant Fox. "Jack, my man," said Mr. Duke, "just let us know what way ye found auld Colin's body." Paterson stepped up to the table, twirling his sou'wester round and round by the brim between his two big hands. "Weel, ye see, Mr. Duke," began Jack falteringly, "I was lying in my bed on Friday night when young Halcro Ericson knocked at the door and telt me that Thora Kinlay was out in the storm and couldna be found. So I cam' along to Stromness--" "Ay, but dinna mind that part o' the story, Jack," interrupted Mr. Duke; "just begin where Steenie and you heard the dog." "Yes, Mr. Duke," said Paterson, dropping his sou'wester in his nervousness. And then he repeated what Captain Flett had already told me. "Did you both go into the cottage?" asked the bailie. "No," said Jack, "Steenie ran away down to the town to tell the doctor. I went into Mary's mysel'. But Mary was away at Kirkwall, ye ken. I saw that some person had been there, however; for the peats were still hot, and there was some roasted potatoes on the table, forbye a cloth that had blood on it." "And you waited about there until Dr. Linklater came?" "Yes, Mr. Duke." "Now do you recognize this as the gun you found?" Mr. Duke asked, touching my fowling piece. "Ay, that's just it," replied Jack. Bailie Thomson then asked: "Have you ever seen the gun before, Paterson?" "No," said Jack. "What! have you never seen Ericson with it?" "Never," said Paterson, "though they tell me it is Halcro's gun." "Are you sure that Ericson had not the gun with him when he knocked you up on Friday night?" persisted Mr. Thomson. "Yes, quite sure," said Jack. "And where did Ericson go to after he left you?" questioned Mr. Thomson. "I dinna ken, Mr. Thomson. He said he was to gang back to Lyndardy. But ye'd better ask himsel', had ye not?" And Paterson looked round to where I sat. Mr. Thomson seemed to have no further questions to ask, and Bailie Duke said: "Very well, Jack, that will do now. You may both go." And Jack Paterson went away, followed by Barrie. "Now, doctor, would you just let us hear what you have to say, please?" said Mr. Duke, turning to Dr. Linklater. The doctor kept his seat, and said: "Mr. Drever came to me early on Friday morning and told me that Colin Lothian had been shot dead over by Mary Firth's cottage, and I went out. I met the man Barrio on the way, and he turned back with me, conducting me to the spot. I found Lothian quite dead. He had been dead quite two hours, I should say. There was a gunshot wound in his back under the left shoulder. I got Paterson and Barrie to take off a door in Mary Firth's room, and we carried the body upon it down to my house. I made an examination of the body, and extracted several swan shot from the left lung." Dr. Linklater then passed a piece of paper containing the shot to Bailie Duke, saying: "I suppose you need me no longer, bailie?" "No, doctor, that's all," said Mr. Duke. "Just tell Macfarlane to send David Flett in, will you?" Flett came in and took his place before the magistrates, and gave information as to the time of my leaving the Falcon on Friday night. Mr. Thomson, questioning him, asked: "Do you know of any motive that the lad Ericson might have in committing this crime? Was there any enmity between him and Lothian?" "Certainly not. How could ye think so, Mr. Thomson?" said my skipper. "Why, Colin and Halcro were most friendly. It seems to me ridiculous that anyone should ever suspect such a thing o' the lad!" Mr. Duke here rang his bell and told Macfarlane to bring in Tom Kinlay. It was a considerable time before Tom appeared, with the jailer at his side, for he had to be brought out of the cell in which the smugglers were imprisoned. As Flett went out, he came forward slowly, looking pale and haggard. I noticed him start nervously as Mr. Duke, putting forth his hand to take up his snuffbox, happened to touch the gun. There was some dispute between Bailie Duke and Bailie Thomson as to which of them should first question Kinlay. But it was arranged that Mr. Thomson should do so. He commenced by saying to Tom: "You were taken in the North Gaulton Cave on Saturday, were you not?" But at this point Mr. Drever made an unexpected interruption. Hitherto he had, during the proceedings, been quietly but busily writing down the evidence, for use in the formal indictment which, as I afterwards learned, Mr. Duke was to submit to the procurator fiscal, whose deputy he was. "Mr. Duke," said the dominie, "do you not think, in view of the importance of Kinlay's evidence, that it is advisable to administer the oath?" "Ah! you're right, dominie; yes, certainly," said Mr. Duke. "No, no," objected Bailie Thomson. "Why should this witness be treated differently from the others?" "Mr. Drever is right, Thomson," said Mr. Duke. "We must have the oath." "I see no reason for it," said Bailie Thomson. "This is not a formal or judicial inquiry; it is a simple precognition of witnesses." "I think, Mr. Thomson," mildly interposed the schoolmaster, "that you will see a little later on the necessity of it. Besides, you must remember that Kinlay is already a prisoner on two separate charges." "Yes," said Mr. Duke, "both for smuggling and for having contravened the law of treasure trove." Then addressing Tom Kinlay he said: "Thomas Kinlay, you will now hold up your right hand and repeat these words distinctly after me." Kinlay raised his hand above his head and repeated the solemn and impressive words of our Scotch adjuration: "I swear by Almighty God, as I shall answer to God at the great day of judgment, that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me, God!" When this was done Mr. Duke leaned back in his chair and said: "Now, Mr. Thomson, if you please." "You were taken in the cave of Gaulton on Saturday, were you not?" repeated Mr. Thomson, addressing Tom. Tom sullenly answered "Yes." "Now, tell us," the bailie continued, "when you entered that cave with your father and the crew of the St. Magnus, whom did you find there?" Tom had first seen me when I was taken down to the cutter's boat, and no doubt he had believed that it was I who had guided the revenue men to the cavern. He, therefore, grasped at the interpretation implied by the bailie's question, and, whether intentionally or not, suppressed the fact that he was himself in the cave before the smugglers arrived, he merely said: "We didna find anybody in the cave." "That is strange," said Mr. Thomson. "Then you saw nothing of Ericson in the cave?" "Nothing, sir, until I saw him in the Clasper's pinnace." "Of course we are to understand," observed Bailie Duke, "that Ericson might hide in the cave without being discovered by the smugglers. Lieutenant Fox had better be questioned about his manner of arresting the lad;" and he looked towards the officer. Mr. Fox bent forward in his chair and said: "I first saw Ericson in the cave when, as I believe, he saved my life by knocking a pistol from Carver Kinlay's hand. I believe the lad was in there before the crew of the St. Magnus." "Then that is proof sufficient that Ericson was hiding," said Mr. Thomson with an air of triumph. "Halcro! come forward, will you?" said Mr. Duke, "and stand beside Kinlay." I did as he requested, and then I was required to take the oath as Kinlay had taken it. Mr. Thomson looked satisfied. "Tell us, Ericson," said Bailie Duke, taking a pinch of snuff, and then bending forward with his elbows on the table, "tell us this: When you bravely, and at the risk of breaking your neck, climbed down the North Gaulton Cliff to render assistance, as you supposed, to Thora Kinlay, did you find anyone in the cave?" "Yes, Mr. Duke," I answered with directness, "I found Tom Kinlay. He was alone and asleep." "You descended the cliff without the aid of ropes, I believe?" "Yes, sir." "Do you know any other lad in Pomona who could have done such a thing? Kinlay, there, for instance?" "He might have done it, sir, but not in winter." "How, then, do you account for Kinlay getting into the cave?" "I suppose, sir, that he had my ropes;" and I pointed to the coil of rope on the table. "Now, further, do you recognize this gun?" "Yes; it is mine." "When did you last use it?" "Two days before I went away in the Falcon, more than two months since." There was a pause here and a passing of the snuffbox. Bailie Duke then turned to Kinlay, holding the viking's stone in his fingers. "Have you ever had this curious stone in your possession, Kinlay?" he asked. "Yes; I got it from my sister," replied Tom. "Ericson," asked Mr. Duke, "how came the stone in your possession on Saturday?" "Jessie and I found it at the head of the Cliff," I said. "It was that which made me believe that Thora was in the cave. She got the stone from me before I went away, and I thought she had maybe dropped it as she was getting over the cliff." "But what on earth could the lass want in the cave?" asked Mr. Thomson. "She was unhappy at home," I explained, "and had threatened to run away. I supposed she had taken refuge in the cave." "Kinlay," said Mr. Duke, touching the coil of rope, "did you at any time make use of these lines to climb down the Gaulton cliffs?" Tom was silent. "If you do not care to tell us that, then, perhaps, you will say if you happened to make use of this gun on the night on which Colin Lothian met his death?" Tom became perceptibly confused. "Mr. Duke," exclaimed Bailie Thomson, "what in the world are you driving at?" "I'm driving at the truth, Mr. Thomson," said Bailie Duke calmly, "and I think I see it. In the first place, you will observe, sir, that no motive whatever has been found which would induce Halcro Ericson to raise his hand against poor Colin Lothian. Now, on the contrary--and I can prove this by witnesses if you wish--it is certain that Kinlay had a quarrel with Lothian on the very day of the murder. Lieutenant Fox, who was witness of that quarrel, will be able to tell the reason of it. The reason was simply this--nothing else but this, Mr. Thomson--that it was Colin who let it out about the smuggling. It was what Lothian said in Oliver Gray's inn that morning which led the officer to believe that Carver Kinlay kept a store of illicit whisky in the Gaulton Cave. Is that so, Mr. Fox?" "It is quite true," said the officer. "Now, it is useless to examine more witnesses in proof of what I say. All that may be considered in detail when the case comes before the procurator fiscal. But Mr. Drever has found one witness whose evidence is of the greatest importance, and I will have that witness called. "Macfarlane, bring in Thora Kinlay. "Ericson, my lad, sit down here with Mr. Drever." Stepping towards the schoolmaster I faced the door through which Macfarlane had disappeared, giving a pat of recognition to Colin Lothian's dog as I passed it. And now that door was reopened, and my dear school friend Thora came in. It was the first time I had seen her since her illness. She seemed taller and more stately, and I mutely marvelled at the delicate beauty of her fair face and at the brightness of her deep-blue eyes. Our eyes met, and we simply pronounced each other's name. "Halcro!" said she; "Thora!" said I. And then Colin Lothian's dog sprang about her skirts in joyful greeting, and followed her to the middle of the room. Bailie Duke, after a consultation with Mr. Drever, called Thora to the table and administered the oath. She pronounced the words with grave solemnity. "I understand, Thora," said Mr. Duke, "that you know something concerning the death of Colin Lothian?" "Yes," said Thora. "I know all about it, Mr. Duke." "What! You can tell how it happened? You know who committed the deed?" Lothian's dog here licked her hand. She sent it away, and it wandered about the room until it came to Tom Kinlay. "Yes, I can tell you that," she replied. And then she turned round, pointing with accusing finger at Tom Kinlay, "'Twas him that did it. I saw it all. See, even the dog kens its own master's blood!" At Kinlay's feet crouched Lothian's dog, snarling angrily as it looked at a stain on the young man's trousers. Consternation filled me as I heard this terrible accusation. Mr. Drever alone of those present seemed unmoved; he alone seemed to have expected it. Tom Kinlay's face grew pale and haggard, and he almost tottered as he stood there with all eyes directed upon him. When the excitement had subsided, Mr. Duke looked towards Thora and asked her to tell all she knew, in her own way, and to omit no detail. She accordingly stepped a little nearer to the table, resting her hand upon it, and gave her evidence in a clear, unfaltering voice. Her narrative was to the following effect: On the day of the commencement of the snowstorm Thora, who had not been to school since her illness, went over to Clouston to visit her young friend Hilda Paterson. When the storm came on she issued out of the cottage and took the road as far as Stenness, and over the undulating land of Sandwick, where the snow wreaths were already so deep that often on her way she failed to recognize the landmarks. She travelled in uncertainty as to the direction she was taking, and felt utterly tired out--for she was not yet strong--when she came unexpectedly to a little cottage, and, to her dismay, found she had walked nearly three miles out of the direct road home. The cottage was a tiny building of rough stones, and the snow found its way inside through the wide crevices in the walls. It was the home of one Mary Firth, a lone old woman who earned her living by knitting stockings and burning kelp. Opening the door, Thora entered the only room. There was no one within and the fire was dead out, for Mary Firth had gone away that morning to Kirkwall to sell her stock of knitting. Thora was cold and hungry; she considered it impossible to reach Crua Breck before dark, and the snow was falling heavily, so she determined to wait till old Mary returned. She got a few pieces of dry peat from a corner and piled them on the hearth, then sought for Mary's flint and steel, and proceeded to kindle a fire. Its warmth was comforting, and she sat there on a low stool until the peats glowed hot and the kettle began to boil. Still Mary did not return. There was no tea to be found in the cupboard and the only particle of food was a piece of oaten bannock. There were a few raw potatoes, however, and Thora put some of these in the fire to roast. She was looking out at the falling snow through the little window, and expecting Mary, when in the distance she saw the figure of a man walking in the direction of Lyndardy farm, and bending forward as he fought against wind and snow. Behind him was a dog, and she knew at once that the man was Colin Lothian. Now Thora had been anxious to meet the old wanderer ever since I had told her of the wreck of the Undine, and throwing her shawl over her head she ran out of the cottage to bid him enter and share the meal she had prepared. She had not gone far, however, before she observed another person approaching old Lothian from the opposite direction. This was Tom Kinlay, and as she recognized him she paused and slowly retreated to the cottage without being observed, for she had no desire to meet him, or be seen by him at that moment. As she looked round the two men met and stood face to face. The wind carried the sound of their voices towards her, and she heard angry words pass between them. Yet what they said was indistinct. She only gathered that they were quarrelling about something that Lothian had told to the excise officers. The dog barked at Kinlay, and he kicked the animal. Finally, Tom allowed the old man to continue his way a few yards and shouted after him, "Well, anyhow, you'll tell no more;" and as he said these words he raised a gun to his shoulder and fired. The girl saw Lothian stagger and fall. Then Tom went and knelt down at the side of his victim as though he would complete his work with the knife he took from his belt. But, looking nervously round in the direction of the cottage, as though fearing that the report of the gun might bring some one out, he hurried away in the direction of the cliffs, carrying with him a rope which was coiled over his shoulder. Already Thora had left the cottage, but Tom had not observed her. She ran through the snow towards the wounded man. The dog was yelping and running frantically about. The old man raised himself to a sitting posture as she stooped and supported his head. He did not recognize her until she spoke. "Where are you hurt, Colin?" she asked. "Do you not know me? I'm Thora." He tried to place his hand on his side, and fell back helpless. "Can ye walk with me as far as Mary Firth's?" she said. "Nay, Thora, lassie," he murmured. "I'll not walk any more. My travelling is ower. The life flies out o' me." Thora wrung her hands, not knowing what to do. The darkness of night was coming on. They were far away from any dwelling, save the little cottage, and the snow wreaths on the desolate moor were becoming every moment more impassable. "I will run to Stromness for Dr. Linklater," she said. "No, lassie, no; there's no use o' doing that," said Colin. "The doctor can do nothing. Go away home and let me die." "No, I canna leave you, Colin," she said woefully. "And how can I go home when my own brother has done this thing?" "Tom Kinlay is no brother o' yours, Thora!" gasped Colin. "Nor Carver your father!" "What do you mean, Colin? Oh, what do you mean?" cried she. "Carver not my father! Who is my father, then?" "Listen!" said Colin. But he had not strength to say more. He dropped his head back and groaned. And then she saw that he was dead. She took the plaid from under him and spread it over his body to protect it from the snow. Then leaving the dog in charge of its dead master, she hurried first to the cottage to see if Mary Firth had returned. She wiped her hands of the blood that was on them, and made her way through the snow to Stromness. It was almost midnight when she arrived in the town, for her journey had been a long and a difficult one. All the houses were in darkness, and there was not a person to be seen in the deserted streets. She made her way to the schoolhouse, and after much trouble succeeded in arousing Andrew Drever. But when the door was opened she had not strength to speak. She fainted from exhaustion as soon as she sat down in the kitchen. Mr. Drever gave her food, which revived her; but it was not until she had had several hours' sleep that she could recount even a part of what had occurred on the moor. But the schoolmaster understood this much, that Colin Lothian was lying dead near to Mary Firth's cottage, and, leaving the girl for a few minutes, he ran to Dr. Linklater's and sent him to make further discoveries. Such was the substance of Thora's evidence, though I have given it in fuller detail than as she delivered it to Mr. Duke. When she had been cross-questioned by Bailie Thomson the inquiry was closed by Mr. Duke, and the case remitted to a higher court. Tom Kinlay was thereupon taken by Macfarlane to his prison cell to await the delivery of the formal charge of murder. I was taking up my gun and preparing to leave when Andrew Drever requested me to remain in order to be present at the consideration of a further question that had arisen out of his investigations of the case. Mr. Duke remained in his chair, talking with Thora, while Bailie Thomson and Mr. Fox went out. Presently, however, I was somewhat surprised to see Captain Flett enter, with Peter Brown; and I could only conjecture that there was now to be some explanation as to the meaning of the two boxes being on the table--the box out of the cave and the little chest from the Pilgrim. But what was said and done at this supplementary inquiry may well be reserved for another chapter. Chapter XL. Ephraim Quendale. "Tom Kinlay is no brother of yours, Thora; nor Carver your father!" These words were ringing in my ears. What did they mean? I was questioning in my own mind what Colin could have meant when Mr. Drever asked us all to sit at the table. He had some statement to make. Turning to Mr. Duke he said: "In the remarkable evidence just given by Thora--I will not now call her Thora Kinlay--you who heard it were no doubt astonished at the revelation made to her by Colin Lothian in his dying moments." "Yes, dominie," said Mr. Duke. "I have just been asking Thora what Colin could have meant. Can you throw any light on the matter yourself?" "I believe we can throw some light on it, bailie, and perhaps you can help me to make the matter clear." The schoolmaster stood with his hand resting on the chest that had been brought from the cave. "First of all," said he, "I will ask if you remember Carver Kinlay's arrival in the Mainland?" "Right well do I remember it," said Mr. Duke. "He was cast ashore in the wreck of a Danish barque about a dozen years ago, or more. What was the ship's name, now?" "The Undine?" suggested Mr. Drever. "Ay, that's just it, the Undine. And Sandy Ericson found Carver in some hole in the cliff two or three days after the wreck." "That was so," said Andrew. "And you will also mind that Carver was not alone in the cave. There was a child with him--a little girl." "Yes, yes; I mind that now, Andrew. The child was Thora herself." "And that cave was the same that the smugglers were taken in on Saturday," said David Flett. "The very same," said the dominie. "And this box, here, has remained in the cave ever since the wreck. See, the ship's name is painted on it!" And he turned the box with the name outward. We read the word "Undine." The schoolmaster then opened the box and took from it a bundle of papers and a book, handing them to the bailie. "By these you will see, sir, that the barque Undine sailed from Glasgow, bound for Copenhagen, and that her owner's name was Quendale--Ephraim Quendale, of Copenhagen. The ship's book will also show you that at Glasgow she took on board the man Carver Kinlay and his wife, his son Tom, and an infant girl." "The girl Thora--" put in Bailie Duke. "Wait a bit, sir," said Andrew, continuing. "There were four persons saved from the wreck in pilot Ericson's boat. These were Kinlay's wife and their boy Tom, a Danish seaman, and a gentleman passenger. That passenger, sir, was Ephraim Quendale himself, the owner of the ship, who, from what I gather, seems to have been returning to his native land, having been on a trip to Scotland with his young wife and their child. "On the morning after the wreck some bodies were washed ashore, and, if you will remember, amongst these was the body of a beautiful young woman, in whose arms was still clasped the shattered body of a little child. You see, Mr. Duke, there were two children on board the vessel, both of them girls, of about the same age. The drowned woman was recognized by Quendale as his wife, and she was afterwards buried with the child in the old burying ground of Yeskenaby. "Two days afterwards--that is to say on the fifth day after the wreck--Ephraim Quendale and the Danish sailor left Orkney." Here Andrew Drever put his hand in his breast pocket and drew out a paper. "I have here," he said, "a letter that I got yesterday from widow Ericson. It is a letter addressed to her husband, Sandy Ericson, and it was written by Ephraim Quendale on the eve of his departure from Kirkwall to Copenhagen. I will read it: "'Pilot Ericson-- "'I have been fortunate enough to find a ship in this port bound for my own land. We sail this morning for Copenhagen, and I shall not be able to see you to thank you personally for what you have done for me in my hour of misfortune. But I shall be back again in your island, please God, in a few weeks' time. I beg that you will do me the goodness to have my beloved wife's name, Thora Quendale, inscribed on the tombstone, and also that you will take charge of all wreckage that may be gathered from the remains of my poor ship. I grieve sorely that you were unable to find the body of the other child; for I still have my doubts, notwithstanding that the woman Kinlay was so positive that the child we buried was not her own. It was sad that the little head was so disfigured. The eyes would have proved all to me. My own darling's eyes were heavenly blue, like her mother's. Should you discover the other body, I beg you will write me a full description of its appearance and forward it by the first ship to me, at Copenhagen, in Denmark. "'Ephraim Quendale'" The schoolmaster handed the letter to Bailie Duke, who read it over to himself and asked a few questions regarding its contents. "Mr. Quendale never returned to Orkney?" said he. "No," replied the dominie. "Strange. And did Pilot Ericson never hear from him?" "Never." "And what about the wreckage?" "There was none of special value," said Andrew. "This box that we have here is, I believe, the only thing of value that remained, and, as you know, it was only discovered a few days since." "But Kinlay appears to have known of it," observed Mr. Duke. "Certainly he knew of it," the dominie returned; "but its value consists in the papers it contains, most of them being in the Danish language, which Kinlay was ignorant of. Had he known that tongue he would doubtless have seen that a large number of the documents are drafts upon the National Bank of Denmark, and other claims of value." "Very good, Andrew; we'll examine them afterwards," said the magistrate. "There was no other wreckage? no other bodies washed ashore?" "No. It was while he was looking out for further remains of the wreck that Sandy Ericson discovered Carver Kinlay in the Gaulton Cave, and with him the child we know as Thora." "Kinlay's own child, that is," observed the bailie. "I believe not, Mr. Duke," said Andrew. "She is the daughter of this Mr. Quendale, the owner of the wrecked ship." "Indeed! You believe that, Andrew?" "I firmly believe it." "Had we not better send for Mrs. Kinlay, to hear what she has to say on the matter?" said Mr. Duke. "Mrs. Kinlay is dangerously ill. However, I was at Crua Breck yesterday and saw her. It seems that when Sandy took the bairn to her, she, in her excitement at its recovery, claimed it as her own. There was no clothing on the child to identify it by, you see, and she did not discover her mistake for some hours after Sandy had gone. But Sandy had told her that Mr. Quendale was to return to Pomona very soon, and Thora was kept there until her father should come back." "But, Andrew, man, how do you explain their keeping Thora and bringing her up as their own bairn if, as you affirm, she was known to be the daughter of other parents?" "Simply in this way," said Mr. Drever; "Carver, you see, knew very well that Mr. Quendale was expected back in Orkney. He kept the girl, as his wife confesses, hoping for a ransom from so wealthy a father. But having begun, very foolishly, by passing Thora off as his own bairn, he was obliged to continue to recognize her as such before folk, still believing that her true father would reappear." Bailie Duke was not altogether satisfied with this explanation. He turned to Thora and said: "Did Carver always treat you kindly, Thora--as a father?" Thora looked up appealingly to him, with tears on her cheek, saying: "No, Mr. Duke. He was good to me before folk; but he was very hard sometimes." "And your mother--I mean Mrs. Kinlay--was she good to you?" "She has aye been good to me; but not like a mother," said Thora, as plaintively as a lost lamb. "And you never suspected that she was not your true mother?" asked Mr. Duke. "Not till Colin Lothian spoke to me about it." "There is certainly some mystery about all this," said the bailie, turning to Andrew Drever. "But it remains with us to communicate with this Mr. Quendale, if he is still alive." "He is not alive," said Andrew, with conviction. "Oh, then, you know something of him?" "Yes," said Mr. Drever; and here he turned to me and asked me, to my surprise, to relate all that had occurred during my solitary voyage in the Falcon. I did not see what possible application this could have to the case, or how it could be connected with the mystery of Thora's parentage. But I related my adventure. I told how David Flett had been knocked overboard, and of the mate and Jerry leaving me alone on the schooner; of my difficult navigation of her, and of my discovery of the Pilgrim. Here the schoolmaster called the magistrate to give attention, and I guessed that it must be with the ill-fated ship that the mystery was to be in some way cleared. I told how I saw the supercargo seated at the table in the cabin, and how I had read the last entry in his log book. Andrew Drever opened the book, which was before him, and passed it to Mr. Duke, saying: "You will observe, sir, that the last date written here is January, 1831. Thirteen years ago." "Thirteen years ago!" exclaimed Mr. Duke, turning over the pages. "Ah! now I begin to see your application. Go on, Halcro." I then spoke of finding the charts, and described how the Pilgrim had touched at Kirkwall. "She called at Kirkwall to put me ashore for hospital," interposed Peter Brown. "What!" exclaimed Mr. Duke. "And are you going to say that this Pilgrim was the vessel in which Mr. Quendale sailed for Copenhagen?" "Copenhagen was the port she sailed for--calling at Akureyri, in Iceland," quietly explained the dominie. "Go on, Halcro." I then described the captain's room, and told of the man I had seen lying dead in the sleeping bunk. I spoke of the diamond ring. "Have you got that ring?" asked the magistrate. "Yes," I said, feeling in my waistcoat pocket and producing it from the folds of a piece of muslin. I handed it to the schoolmaster, whom I had not told about it before. He examined the sparkling stones and handed it on to Mr. Duke. I saw Mr. Duke eyeing it curiously. As he looked at the inner circle of gold a light came to his eyes. "Ah, hello!" said he. "There are some letters engraved here. Can you read them, dominie? The characters are foreign. It looks like German or Russian." Andrew took the ring nearer to the light. "The characters are Danish!" said he excitedly. "It is the name 'Thora Quendale!'" "Well, all this is unmistakable evidence," said Mr. Duke. "I think you have proved, Andrew, that this passenger on the Pilgrim and the owner of the Undine were one and the same person. The ring is a lady's ring. Probably it belonged to Quendale's wife." "I think it likely that he took it from his dead wife's finger," said the schoolmaster, handing the ring back to me. "No, sir," I said. "The ring isna mine. It belongs now to Thora, and Thora shall have it;" and making my way towards her I took her fair hand in mine. White and smooth it was, like the hand of a lady, with long tapering fingers and shapely nails. A strange new sensation came over me as I held it in my own rough palm. My heart beat quicker, and I felt myself growing red in the face. "Take the ring, Thora, and wear it for the sake of those who have gone before;" and I slipped the glistening ring upon her finger. "Thank you, Halcro!" she said, very softly. "Thank you! I will wear it for my father and mother's sake, and also for yours." "For my sake, Thora!" and I looked down into her eyes. There was an expression in them that I had not seen there before. I started back with a sudden recollection. Here before me I saw the same blue eyes, the same fair hair, the same beautiful face and rounded neck that I had seen pictured in the locket that fell from the dead man's hand on board the Pilgrim! Here was proof added to proof. There could no longer be any doubt in my mind that Thora was indeed the daughter of the beautiful woman who was cast ashore at Inganess, and whose body now lay in the old neglected graveyard across the moor--the daughter of Thora and Ephraim Quendale. Chapter XLI. The Last Of The Kinlays. Thora Quendale--as I must now call my young girl friend--returned that evening to her old home at Crua Breck. We walked together that far over the hardened snow; and many were the questions she asked me concerning all that I had seen and learnt of her dead father. What was he like? Was he tall, and great, and noble as she imagined him? What was the colour of his hair? How old did I think he was? And did I suppose he had suffered much in that dreadful ice prison in the far north? To all of which I answered as best I could, with my very slight knowledge of the facts she was so much interested in. O, if I had only known who that passenger was that lay dead in the captain's room! I could perhaps have discovered more about him before the ship went down. As we walked side by side across the white moorland, my companion looked again and again at the glittering ring on her finger. "I am glad," I said, "that I happened to bring the ring away with me." She sighed. "I'd rather you had brought my mother's picture. That would have been more to me than anything else." "Alas!" I said. "But I did not know then that it was the picture of your mother, Thora; and I thought it would be wrong to take it from his hand. For it was perhaps the only thing he had to look upon in those weary long days in the ice prison that could remind him of his happier times. I think it must have been the last thing his eyes rested upon while his life lingered." "Maybe you're right, Halcro," said she; "but I'd like to have seen the picture. "Tell me," she continued, "d'ye know where my mother's grave is?" "Yes, well do I know it, and I'll take you to it some day when the snow is away." We walked along silently after this, and parted at the gate of Crua Breck farm. A few days after Bailie Duke's preliminary examination of witnesses, the procurator fiscal--the official by whom such inquiries are conducted in Scotland on behalf of the Crown--arrived from Kirkwall. The case had already been made clear in preparation for him, and he had little else to do than take the evidence formally and arrange it in legal order. The matter became somewhat involved with the action against the smugglers, for it transpired that Tom Kinlay had, after telling his father of the affair at the inn, been sent by Carver to spy on Colin Lothian, and to watch the cliffs and give an alarm in case the revenue authorities had determined to institute a plan of attack from the land. The evidence against him was too strong to admit of a doubt as to the ultimate issue of the examination, and a single day's inquiry was sufficient to establish the case against him. He was accordingly carried off to Kirkwall, and there committed to prison on the charge of having "wilfully, wickedly, and with malice aforethought, murdered Colin Lothian by shooting him with a gun." The trial was awaited with much interest by the people of the Mainland. No one doubted that the prisoner would be found guilty of a capital offence. The only question that gave any one concern was the nature of the punishment that his guilt would merit. But several weeks before the date fixed for the trial an event occurred which made all speculation superfluous. One morning the rumour reached Stromness that Tom Kinlay and all the smugglers had escaped from Kirkwall jail. At first this was generally discredited, for the building in which the men were confined was a notably strong one; but later reports confirmed the rumour. The authorities had trusted more to the strength of the prison than to the vigilance of the guard; and one dark night, by the aid of some of their comrades outside and the treachery of one of the jailers, the prisoners effected an easy escape. Dodging through the narrow streets they went by various ways to the harbour, and there took forcible possession of a small brig that was lying at anchor in the bay. Before the alarm spread the vessel was far out at sea beyond the possibility of pursuit. The escape was well planned, and as the brig was fully provisioned, her destination could only be surmised. It was commonly believed that the fugitives would return to their old trade of smuggling, and, as the men's knowledge of navigation was known to be extremely limited, it was not thought that they would venture upon a voyage to very distant parts. At this time I was away on a short trip in the Falcon. We touched at the island of Rousay, and here we learnt that some smugglers in a strange brig had, two days earlier, made a daring raid upon one of the small villages, robbing the inhabitants of their most precious possessions. We heard a similar story at Papa Westray. But it was not until our return to Stromness that we associated these piratical raids with Tom Kinlay and his companions. A few weeks afterwards a Glasgow barque, named the Surprise, put in at Stromness, and reported having, on passing one of the Outer Hebrides, rendered assistance to a wrecked vessel, which, though bearing another name, answered exactly to the description of the stolen brig. Among the passengers on the Surprise was Captain Gordon, who had left his ship, the Lydia, at Greenock, and was now on his way to Leith. He had gone out in the ship's boat to the wreck. One of the crew was saved, an Orkney man; but the rest were all lost, including, as we afterwards heard, young Tom Kinlay, whose career of crime was thus brought to an early termination. Mrs. Kinlay, who was a gentle and good woman, had much tribulation to bear up against in the unhappy deaths of her husband and son; and, having but little of the sympathy of her neighbours, she resolved to leave the island. Accordingly, as soon as she recovered her health, the farm, stock, and furniture at Crua Breck were sold, and the unfortunate widow took passage over to Caithness, where she remained among her relatives for the rest of her days. A great dread came upon me when I heard that Mrs. Kinlay had left for Scotland. I thought that Thora Quendale had gone with her, and that I had lost sight of my dear girl friend for ever. I feared even to ask if this was so; but passing along the road one evening, soon after we had dropped anchor in the bay, I chanced to meet Andrew Drever walking home with a string of trout hanging at his side. Having exchanged a few friendly remarks with me, he asked if I would go and spend the evening with him. "Come and take some supper with us, lad," said he. "Thora will be glad to see ye." "Thora!" I exclaimed. "Ay, Thora. Did you not know Thora lives with us now?" "No; I thought she had gone to Caithness with Mrs. Kinlay." "Nay, nay," said Andrew; "Thora can look after herself now, since we heard from Copenhagen. But come along as soon's you can, and we'll tell you all about it." And with that he trudged away humming a lightsome tune. Chapter XLII. A Choice Among Three. Not many minutes after I left the schoolmaster, when I was passing by the wharf, I met Jack Paterson. Jack was standing looking down into the water, with his two hands deep in his trousers pockets, and his face bearing an expression of curious indecision. "Hello, Jack, what's troubling you now?" I asked, approaching him. "Troubling me! Well, I suppose it is troubling me, too. The fact is, Ericson, I've been asked to take command of the new pilots." "Well, man, that's surely nothing to look so gloomy about, is it?" "No, lad; and I wouldna trouble sae muckle if I could see my way clear to takin' the offer. But, ye see, Halcro, I canna do the piloting without a boat." "I see, I see. Ay, Jack, but that's a pity, man. And ye canna get the money towards buying the St. Magnus?" "No; the St. Magnus is for sale, I weel ken that, and she's a right good boat. But where can a poor crofter body like me get the siller, think ye?" "'Deed, I dinna ken, Jack; but maybe the siller will come somehow. There's many a one in Orkney would advance it for you, surely. Dinna be cast down about it, man. What about your crew?" "Weel, I was thinkin' of yersel for one, Halcro?" "Of me!" "Ay, and Jimmie Crageen, and Ronald Ray from Kirbister, and Steenie Barrie; all o' them good honest men and weel acquainted wi' the Orkneys. What d'ye say, Halcro? Will ye join us?" "I canna say, Jack. Ye see there's the Falcon. I couldna leave Davie Flett very well; though I'll not deny I'd rather be a pilot than anything else." "Weel, ye'll think of it any way; and if we can get the money, there's no doubt but we'll manage the business right enough." With that I left Jack on the wharf and continued my way, meditating upon this chance of fulfilling my ambition of being a Pomona pilot. I had not gone far, however, when I heard a quick step behind me. "Ericson, Ericson!" some one called. I turned and saw Lieutenant Fox following me in full uniform, and with a young midshipman attending him. He came up to me, and, after a few ordinary observations, said: "I wanted to ask you something, Ericson. We're short-handed on the Clasper, and we need the help of a man who knows these islands well; someone who knows all about the people, and can be of service in keeping down the smuggling. Now, what d'ye say? Will you join us yourself?" "I'm afraid not, Mr. Fox," I replied, for I had already half made up my mind about the piloting, and with true Orkney instinct I clung to the old ways of my family. "I'm afraid not, sir. You see I'm aboard the Falcon just now, and if I leave Davie Flett it will only be to join the new pilots. "But if you're needing a hand," I continued, thinking just then of Willie Hercus, "I can get you a lad that knows just about as much of the Orkneys as I do, one that has always wished to be a man-o'-war's man." "I'd rather have yourself, Ericson," said the officer. "Just think about it, will you? It's a good opening for you, and you may yet reach the quarterdeck and become an admiral, and fly your own pennant before you're as old as Davie Flett. Let me know as soon as you decide. But if you can't join us, send your friend. Good evening!" As the young lieutenant walked away with a great clattering of his long sword, I looked at his laced cocked hat and his epaulettes, and fancied myself in a similar uniform. However, my native simplicity came to my rescue, and, good as this opportunity of serving my Queen appeared, I yet thought fondly of the pilot's busy, perilous life. Something told me that it was my destiny to be a pilot, as my fathers for three generations had been before me. I went into Oliver Gray's inn, and there found my skipper, Davie Flett, awaiting me. He was talking with a little old man, whom I soon recognized as Isaac the Dutch Jew, who had bought the viking's ruby from Tom Kinlay. When I entered, Isaac retired to a far corner of the parlour and watched me closely as I talked with Captain Flett. "When do we sail, captain?" I asked, as I sat down beside the skipper. "Tomorrow night," said he. And I judged that I should now have to determine without delay which of the three appointments I should take--remain with Flett, join the revenue cutter, or become a pilot. "I've just been speaking with Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper," I said. "He wants me to go into the revenue business." "Ay! and so you're to be a blue jacket, eh?" mused Flett, without offering any objection to my leaving the Falcon. "No," I replied, "I'm not sure yet that I'll join them, captain. The fact is, I have also seen Jack Paterson, and he wants me to become a pilot." "That's more in your line, my lad. Tak' my advice and join the pilots. Ye'll do better as a pilot than anything else. It's in your blood. As for the Falcon, I said when you came aboard us that you could easily leave if you chanced upon something better. We can soon get another lad to fill your berth. Maybe ye ken a lad yersel' that would come aboard us?" "Ay, that I do," I responded. "There's Robbie Rosson, he'd be glad of the chance." "Bring him to me then, Halcro, and we'll take him along with us next trip to see if he likes it." Here was a fortunate opportunity. By my own advancement I was to be the means of helping my two school companions. Willie Hercus was to join the revenue cutter; Robbie Rosson was to go aboard the Falcon. As for myself, I may say that it was a foregone conclusion with me that I should take to the piloting. "Has Paterson got a boat yet, Halcro?" asked the skipper. "No, that is his one difficulty. He wants the money. I wish I could only get some money from somewhere." Captain Flett lapsed into silence, as though, acting in his customary fashion, he was contriving in his mind how best to secure a pilot boat for Jack Paterson. Presently the old Jew edged nearer to us and said to me: "Did I hear you say you vant money, mine young friend?" "That's a thing a good many folk want," said I. "Why?" "Vy? Oh, just because I tink you have got someting vort a great lot of money. Dot little black stone you showed me; long time ago, you know." Here Captain Flett interposed, speaking with Isaac in Dutch. A long conversation followed in that language, during which Flett asked me for my viking's stone. The old Jew took the talisman in his long fingers. He regarded it as though he were familiar with its structure, twisting it round and screwing the thin band of gold that encircled it. Then a very wonderful thing happened. He gave the stone a few taps upon the table and the metal ring fell off. The stone dropped open in two pieces like a shell, and in the heart of it appeared a bright clear gem that sparkled in the light of the oil lamp hanging above us. I looked on in dumb amazement. This stone, Jarl Haffling's talisman, that I had carried about with me so long, fondly believing that it had the power to protect me from all perils, was it no talisman after all? I doubted it now. Whatever dangers I had gone through had been surmounted by no aid from this supposed amulet, but simply by my own endeavours. But useless as it no doubt was in this particular, I could well imagine that the bright diamond which had been so cunningly enclosed within its hard stony shell might be of considerable value. That it was of great value I soon discovered from what the old Hebrew informed me. He took from his inner pocket a tiny pair of scales, and proceeded to weigh the glittering jewel in the balance. Then he made some calculations on a dirty piece of paper, speaking as he did so in Dutch with Captain Flett. "D'ye want to sell the thing, Halcro?" said the skipper. "He says he canna buy it himsel', but he kens its value. He's the agent of a diamond merchant in Amsterdam." I hesitated to answer, reflecting upon my need of money. My mother was poor; I could help her by selling this thing, and then, if I should get for it more than sufficed for her immediate needs, was there not this pilot boat to buy? I might be able to become part owner of the St. Magnus. "What does he say the diamond is worth?" I asked of Flett. The sum he named astonished me. I could scarcely contain my wonder at the thought of it. "Five hundred guineas," answered Flett. Five hundred guineas! Why, that was a fortune. "Would you give me that much for it?" I asked, looking at old Isaac. "Ah! mine young man, you tink me rich. I could not offer you five hundred shilling for the stone. I only tell you it is vort so much." He thereupon replaced the gem within its covering of stone, drew on the band of gold again, and returned to me my talisman in its original condition. Then he drank the gin that was in the glass before him, and put back his little scales into his pocket. Before leaving us he handed me a little card on which was inscribed the name of a diamond merchant in Amsterdam. "You are a sailorman," he said, buttoning up his coat. "You may be in Amsterdam one day. If you go to dat address dey vill buy the stone from you; but do not take one groschen less dan five hundred guineas. Good day, mynheer!" And he went out. "Weel," said Davie Flett, "I must say that's a queer auld fellow." "He seems to have turned honest," I said. "The auld scoundrel has taken a liking for you, Halcro," said the skipper, smiling. "But," said I, "I almost wish he had bought the diamond." "Nonsense, lad! keep it and bide ye're time. Besides, you forget the dominie's 'Law of Treasure Trove'" "Ah, yes, I suppose I would only be entitled to a third of the money after all," I said. "But what about the pilot boat?" "That will be all square, my lad. Did they not tell you that I had bought the St. Magnus?" "No! do you really mean that, captain?" "Certainly I mean it. And you and Jack Paterson can start the piloting as soon's ye like." That night, as I sat at Andrew Drever's fireside talking of Jarl Haffling's talisman, Thora Quendale told us how, when one day after her illness she was sitting in an armchair, with the stone dangling by a string from her hand, she fell asleep before the warm fire. She was awakened by hearing a footstep in the room; it was Tom Kinlay's. She felt for the stone, but it was gone. Tom had stolen it. This was how it came into his possession. Evidently it was by a mere accident that he left it at the top of the cliff, before going down to the cave, after the death of Colin Lothian. That night, too, Andrew Drever told me, as he had promised to do, how he had received news from Copenhagen concerning Thora; how the insurance money on the ship Undine and on Mr. Quendale's life was to revert to Thora. This would surely make her a wealthy woman. But the business connected with this, and the inheritance of her father's real and personal property, required that Thora should go to Copenhagen to establish her claims in person at the chancery courts of Denmark. Mr. Drever was interesting himself specially on her account in the capacity of a guardian, and he was soon to accompany her to Denmark and leave her there, probably for several years. Chapter XLIII. Thora's Answer. It was a fresh, breezy, August afternoon. In the open sea, far out, east of the Skerries, we were scudding along blithely, with a flock of seagulls flying wantonly in our wake. The low hills of the Orkneys rose like a faint haze on the horizon to westward. Light waves, touched with green, curled over into snowy spray about our sides as our boat bent over and plunged buoyantly through them. Blue was the far-stretching sea, and bluer still the summer sky. Away to the eastward, whither our bowsprit pointed, a white-sailed clipper grew larger as we approached her. The Danish ensign flew at her mizzen; the familiar signal for a pilot streamed from her fore peak. My heart beat quicker, telling me who was aboard this fair vessel as nearer and nearer we drew. Now we could distinguish the tiny figures moving about her yards, as one by one her studding sails were taken in. Sitting in the stern sheets of my own pilot boat, I watched and watched for some sign on the ship's quarterdeck. At last a white object appeared over the rail, waving with regular motion. I took out my handkerchief and unfurled it in reply, still with faster beating heart. "Lower away, my lads!" I cried, putting the helm to starboard. "Ay, ay, sir," responded Willie Hercus, who had left the Clasper and was now our mate. Then down fell our sails, flapping loud in the breeze, and out went our long sweeping oars. We crept in under the vessel's counter; a rope was thrown to us, and in a few moments I was on her quarterdeck, standing all trembling and nervous before a tall beautiful woman, whose deep-blue eyes and fair, breeze-blown hair were all that I could see--everything else was lost to me. "Halcro!" she exclaimed, holding out her two sunburnt hands in greeting. "Thora!" I murmured, taking her hands in mine. "You have expected me, then?" she said, as I drew her gently to the rail to let the sailors pass. We stood there, looking into each other's face, in which the four years that had passed since our last meeting had left their maturing touch. "I have been expecting you these two months past," I said, looking wistfully over the sea. "There has never come a ship from Denmark but I have boarded her, hoping to see you." "Well, you see me at last, and am I altered?" "You are only more beautiful, Thora, more womanly. And so you are coming back to Pomona to visit us again?" "No, not to visit you, Halcro. I am homeward bound this time. I am never going to leave old Orkney again. My schooling is over, and there is no one left in Copenhagen now to keep me there. I am going to settle down in some cottage near our dear sea cliffs, where I can see the ships passing from my garden seat and dream my life away in pleasant solitude." "In solitude!" I stammered; then shyly asked: "Did you not get my last letter, Thora?" "What! the one in which you told me of Jessie's marriage to Captain Gordon, and that the dominie had retired from his school, and that you were promoted to captain, and had called your new boat the Thora? Yes, certainly, I got it." "But there was something else I said in it, Thora--something more important to me than these things you speak of. Did you not read that part?" Thora looked meekly down at the white planks of the deck, her cheeks growing rosy and her breath coming quick. Then turning her eyes aft towards the steering wheel, she said, crossing the deck: "Captain Ericson, do you not think you should be attending to the piloting of this ship?" "No," I said, following her across to the lee side, where the great mizzen sail shielded us from the view of others on board. "No; my mate, Willie Hercus, is looking after that. I am off duty today. I am here not as pilot; I have come out to welcome you home." Then, after a long silence, during which we both looked overboard upon the dancing waves, where the porpoises rolled in play, and the gulls dipped lightly on balanced wings, I said: "Thora, you did not answer all my letter when you wrote. You were not offended, were you, by what I said?" "I know what you mean, Halcro," she said, resting her hand upon the rail and turning her eyes full upon me, "I was not offended, or I should not now be here. I did not answer you in writing. I have come to answer you in person." She put her hand in mine, and added the one word: "Yes." And that was the answer that Thora spoke on that summer day, long ago, as we stood together on the ship that brought her over from the home of her fathers to the land in the northern seas that was more truly her own. And the ship sailed on, over the blue waters and through breezy sounds and among verdant isles; into sunlit fiords, where the sea birds flew; on, under the dark weatherbeaten cliffs and lofty rocks, where the cormorant sat perched on high. And at last, as the dusk of the evening gathered and the light of the sunset silvered the waters, down went the chain with rattling noise, and we came to an anchor in the peaceful haven of Stromness. THE END. Notes. i According to the standard of value in 1843, the ingot of silver, weighing six ounces, would be worth 1 pound, 13s., 0d. ii Peerie = little. 
42389	----	Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 42389-h.htm or 42389-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42389/42389-h/42389-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42389/42389-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/thepirate00scotuoft Transcriber's note: [oe] represents the oe-ligature. THE PIRATE. Nothing in him---- But doth suffer a sea-change. _Tempest._ Bibliophile Edition This Edition of the Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart, is limited to One Thousand Numbered and Signed Sets, of which this is Number ... University Library Association [Illustration] Bibliophile Edition The Waverley Novels With New Introductions, Notes and Glossaries by Andrew Lang THE PIRATE by SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. Illustrated [Illustration] University Library Association Philadelphia Copyright, 1893 By Estes & Lauriat Andrew Lang Edition. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THE PIRATE. VOLUME I. PAGE MORDAUNT IN YELLOWLEY'S COTTAGE. _Frontispiece_ THE SWORD DANCE 234 VOLUME II. MINNA ON THE CLIFF 103 THE PIRATE'S COUNCIL 208 MINNA TAKING THE PISTOL 250 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO THE PIRATE. The circumstances in which "The Pirate" was composed have for the Editor a peculiar interest. He has many times scribbled at the old bureau in Chiefswood whereon Sir Walter worked at his novel, and sat in summer weather beneath the great tree on the lawn where Erskine used to read the fresh chapters to Lockhart and his wife, while the burn murmured by from the Rhymer's Glen. So little altered is the cottage of Chiefswood by the addition of a gabled wing in the same red stone as the older portion, so charmed a quiet has the place, in the shelter of Eildon Hill, that there one can readily beget the golden time again, and think oneself back into the day when Mustard and Spice, running down the shady glen, might herald the coming of the Sheriff himself. Happy hours and gone: like that summer of 1821, whereof Lockhart speaks with an emotion the more touching because it is so rare,-- the first of several seasons, which will ever dwell on my memory as the happiest of my life. We were near enough Abbotsford to partake as often as we liked of its brilliant society; yet could do so without being exposed to the worry and exhaustion of spirit which the daily reception of new visitors entailed upon all the society except Sir Walter himself. But, in truth, even he was not always proof against the annoyances connected with such a style of open-house-keeping. Even his temper sank sometimes under the solemn applause of learned dulness, the vapid raptures of painted and periwigged dowagers the horse-leech avidity with which underbred foreigners urged their questions, and the pompous simpers of condescending magnates. When sore beset in this way, he would every now and then discover that he had some very particular business to attend to on an outlying part of his estate, and, craving the indulgence of his guests overnight, appear at the cabin in the glen before its inhabitants were astir in the morning. The clatter of Sibyl Grey's hoofs, the yelping of Mustard and Spice, and his own joyous shout of _reveillée_ under our window, were the signal that he had burst his bonds, and meant for that day to take his ease in his inn.... After breakfast he would take possession of a dressing-room upstairs, and write a chapter of "The Pirate"; and then, having made up and dispatched his parcel for Mr. Ballantyne, away to join Purdie where the foresters were at work.... The constant and eager delight with which Erskine watched the progress of the tale has left a deep impression on my memory: and indeed I heard so many of its chapters first read from the MS. by him, that I can never open the book now without thinking I hear his voice. Sir Walter used to give him at breakfast the pages he had written that morning, and very commonly, while he was again at work in his study, Erskine would walk over to Chiefswood, that he might have the pleasure of reading them aloud to my wife and me under our favourite tree.[1] "The tree is living yet!" This long quotation from a book but too little read in general may be excused for its interest, as bearing on the composition of "The Pirate," in the early autumn of 1821. In "The Pirate" Scott fell back on his recollections of the Orcades, as seen by him in a tour with the Commissioners of Light Houses, in August 1814, immediately after the publication of "Waverley." They were accompanied by Mr. Stevenson, the celebrated engineer, "a most gentlemanlike and modest man, and well known by his scientific skill."[2] It is understood that Mr. Stevenson also kept a diary, and that it is to be published by the care of his distinguished grandson, Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson, author of "Kidnapped," "The Master of Ballantrae," and other novels in which Scott would have recognised a not alien genius. Sir Walter's Diary, read in company with "The Pirate," offers a most curious study of his art in composition. It may be said that he scarcely noted a natural feature, a monument, a custom, a superstition, or a legend in Zetland and Orkney which he did not weave into the magic web of his romance. In the Diary all those matters appear as very ordinary; in "The Pirate" they are transfigured in the light of fancy. History gives Scott the career of Gow and his betrothal to an island lady: observation gives him a few headlands, Picts' houses, ruined towers, and old stone monuments, and his characters gather about these, in rhythmic array, like the dancers in the sword-dance. We may conceive that Cleveland, like Gow, was originally meant to die, and that Minna, like Margaret in the ballad of Clerk Saunders, was to recover her troth from the hand of her dead lover. But, if Scott intended this, he was good-natured, and relented. Taking the incidents in the Diary in company with the novel, we find, in the very first page of "The Pirate," mention of the roost, or rost, of Sumburgh, the running current of tidal water, which he hated so, because it made him so sea-sick. "All the landsmen sicker than sick, and our Viceroy, Stevenson, qualmish. It is proposed to have a light on Sumburgh Head. Fitful Head is higher, but is to the west, from which quarter few vessels come." As for Sumburgh Head, Scott climbed it, rolled down a rock from the summit, and found it "a fine situation to compose an ode to the Genius of Sumburgh Head, or an Elegy upon a Cormorant--or to have written or spoken madness of any kind in prose or poetry. But I gave vent to my excited feelings in a more simple way, and, sitting gently down on the steep green slope which led to the beach, I e'en slid down a few hundred feet, and found the exercise quite an adequate vent to my enthusiasm." Sir Walter was certainly not what he found Mrs. Hemans, "too poetical." In the first chapter, his Giffords, Scotts (of Scotstarvet, the Fifeshire house, not of the Border clan), and Mouats are the very gentry who entertained him on his tour. His "plantie cruives," in the novel, had been noted in the Diary (Lockhart, iv. 193). "Pate Stewart," the oppressive Earl, is chronicled at length in "the Diary." "His huge tower remains wild and desolate--its chambers filled with sand, and its rifted walls and dismantled battlements giving unrestrained access to the roaring sea-blast." So Scott wrote in his last review for the "Quarterly," a criticism of Pitcairn's "Scotch Criminal Trials" (1831). The Trows, or Drows, the fairy dwarfs he studied on the spot, and connects the name with Dwerg, though _Trolls_ seem rather to be their spiritual and linguistic ancestors. The affair of the clergyman who was taken for a Pecht, or Pict, actually occurred during the tour, and Mr. Stevenson, who had met the poor Pecht before, was able to clear his character.[3] In the same place the Kraken is mentioned: he had been visible for nearly a fortnight, but no sailor dared go near him. He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, But the devil a Zetlander put from the shore. If your Grace thinks I'm writing the thing that is not, You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott, Sir Walter wrote to the Duke of Buccleugh. He paid a visit to an old lady, who, like Norna, and Æolus in the Odyssey, kept the winds in a bag, and could sell a fair breeze. "She was a miserable figure, upwards of ninety, she told me, and dried up like a mummy. A sort of clay-coloured cloak, folded over her head, corresponded in colour to her corpse-like complexion. Fine light-blue eyes, and nose and chin that almost met, and a ghastly expression of cunning gave her quite the effect of Hecate. She told us she remembered _Gow the Pirate_, betrothed to a Miss Gordon,"--so here are the germs of Norna, Cleveland, and Minna, all sown in good ground, to bear fruit in seven years (1814-1821). Triptolemus Yellowley is entirely derived from the Diary, and is an anachronism. The Lowland Scots factors and ploughs were only coming in while Scott was in the isles. He himself saw the absurd little mills (vol. i. ch. xi.), and the one stilted plough which needed two women to open the furrows, a feebler plough than the Virgilian specimens which one still remarks in Tuscany. "When this precious machine was in motion, it was dragged by four little bullocks, yoked abreast, and as many ponies harnessed, or rather strung, to the plough by ropes and thongs of raw hide.... An antiquary might be of opinion that this was the very model of the original plough invented by Triptolemus," son of the Eleusinian king, who sheltered Demeter in her wanderings. The sword-dance was not danced for Scott's entertainment, but he heard of the Pupa dancers, and got a copy of the accompanying chant, and was presented with examples of the flint and bronze Celts which Norna treasured. All over the world, as in Zetland, they were regarded as "thunder stones." (Diary; Lockhart, iv. 220.) The bridal of Norna, by clasping of hands through Odin's stone ring, was still practised as a form of betrothal. (Lockhart, iv. 252.) Some island people were despised, as by Magnus Troil, as "poor sneaks" who ate limpets, "the last of human meannesses." The "wells," or smooth wave-currents, were also noted, and the _Garland_ of the whalers often alluded to in the tale. The Stones of Stennis were visited, and the Dwarfie Stone of Hoy, where Norna, like some Eskimo Angekok, met her familiar demon. Scott held that the stone "probably was meant as the temple of some northern edition of the _dii Manes_. They conceive that the dwarf may be seen sometimes sitting at the door of his abode, but he vanishes on a nearer approach." The dwelling of Norna, a Pict's house, with an overhanging story, "shaped like a dice-box," is the ancient Castle of Mousa.[4] The strange incantation of Norna, the dropping of molten lead into water, is also described. Usually the lead was poured through the wards of a key. In affections of the heart, like Minna's, a triangular stone, probably a neolithic arrow-head, was usually employed as an amulet. (Lockhart, iv. 208.) Even the story of the pirate's insolent answer to the Provost is adapted from a recent occurrence. Two whalers were accused of stealing a sheep. The first denied the charge, but said he had seen the animal carried off by "a fellow with a red nose and a black wig. Don't you think he was like his honour, Tom?" "By God, Jack, I believe it was the very man." (Diary; Lockhart, iv. 222; "The Pirate," vol. ii. ch. xiv.) The goldless Northern Ophir was also visited--in brief, Scott scarcely made a remark on his tour which he did not manage to transmute into the rare metal of his romance. It is no wonder that the Orcadians at once detected his authorship. A trifling anecdote of the cruise has recently been published. Scott presented a lady in the isles with a piano, which, it seems, is still capable of producing a melancholy jingling tune.[5] Lockhart says, as to the reception of "The Pirate" (Dec. 1821): "The wild freshness of the atmosphere of this splendid romance, the beautiful contrast of Minna and Brenda, and the exquisitely drawn character of Captain Cleveland, found the reception which they deserved." "The wild freshness of the atmosphere" is indeed magically transfused, and breathes across the pages as it blows over the Fitful Head, the skerries, the desolate moors, the plain of the Standing Stones of Stennis. The air is keen and salt and fragrant of the sea. Yet Sydney Smith was greatly disappointed. "I am afraid this novel will depend upon the former reputation of the author, and will add nothing to it. It may sell, and another may half sell, but that is all, unless he comes out with something vigorous, and redeems himself. I do not blame him for writing himself out, if he knows he is doing so, and has done his _best_, and his _all_. If the native land of Scotland will supply no more scenes and characters, for he is always best in Scotland, though he was very good in England the (time) he was there; but pray, wherever the scene is laid, no more Meg Merrilies and Dominie Sampsons--very good the first and second times, but now quite worn out, and always recurring." ("Archibald Constable," iii. 69.) It was Smith's grammar that gave out, and produced no apodosis to his phrase. Scott could not write himself out, before his brain was affected by disease. Had his age been miraculously prolonged, with health, it could never be said that "all the stories have been told," and he would have delighted mankind unceasingly. Scott himself was a little nettled by the criticisms of Norna as a replica of Meg Merrilies. She is, indeed, "something distinct from the Dumfriesshire gipsy"--in truth, she rather resembles the Ulrica of "Ivanhoe." Like her, she is haunted by the memory of an awful crime, an insane version of a mere accident; like her, she is a votaress of the dead gods of the older world, Thor and Odin, and the spirits of the tempest. Scott's imagination lived so much in the past that the ancient creeds never ceased to allure him: like Heine, he felt the fascination of the banished deities, not of Greece, but of the North. Thus Norna, crazed by her terrible mischance, dwells among them, worships the Red Beard, as outlying descendants of the Aztecs yet retain some faith in their old monstrous Pantheon. Even Minna keeps, in her girlish enthusiasm, some touch of Freydis in the saga of Eric the Red: for her the old gods and the old years are not wholly exiled and impotent. All this is most characteristic of the antiquary and the poet in Scott, who lingers fondly over what has been, and stirs the last faint embers of fallen fires. It is of a piece with the harmless Jacobitism of his festivals, when they sang Here's to the King, boys! Ye ken wha I mean, boys. In the singularly feeble and provincial vulgarities which Borrow launches, in the appendix to "Lavengro," against the memory of Scott, the charge of reviving Catholicism is the most bitter. That rowdy evangelist might as well have charged Scott with a desire to restore the worship of Odin, and to sacrifice human victims on the stone altar of Stennis. He saw in Orkney the ruined fanes of the Norse deities, as at Melrose of the Virgin, and his loyal heart could feel for all that was old and lost, for all into which men had put their hearts and faiths, had made, and had unmade, in the secular quest for the divine. Like a later poet, he might have said:-- Not as their friend or child I speak, But as on some far Northern strand, Thinking of his own gods, a Greek In pity and mournful awe might stand Beside some fallen Runic stone, For both were gods, and both are gone. And surely no creed is more savage, cruel, and worthy of death than Borrow's belief in a God who "knew where to strike," and deliberately struck Scott by inducing Robinson to speculate in hops, and so bring down his Edinburgh associate, Constable, and with him Sir Walter! Such was the religion which Borrow expressed in the style of a writer in a fourth-rate country newspaper. We might prefer the frank Heathenism of the Red Beard to the religion of the author of "The Bible in Spain." There is no denying that Scott had in his imagination a certain mould of romance, into which his ideas, when he wrote most naturally, and most for his own pleasure, were apt to run. It is one of the charms of "The Pirate" that here he is manifestly writing for his own pleasure, with a certain boyish eagerness. Had we but the plot of one of the tales which he told, as a lad, to his friend Irving, we might find that it turned on a romantic mystery, a clue in the hands of some witch or wise woman, of some one who was always appearing in the nick of time, was always round the corner when anything was to be heard. This is a standing characteristic of the tales: now it is Edie Ochiltree, now Flibbertigibbet, now Meg Merrilies, now Norna, who holds the thread of the plot, but these characters are all well differentiated. Again, he had types, especially the pedantic type, which attracted him, but they vary as much as Yellowley and Dugald Dalgetty, the Antiquary, and Dominie Sampson. Yellowley is rather more repressed than some of Scott's bores; but then he is not the only bore, for Claud Halcro, with all his merits, is a professed proser. Swift had exactly described the character, the episodical narrator, in a passage parallel to one in Theophrastus. In writing to Morritt, Scott says (November 1818): "I sympathise with you for the _dole_ you are _dreeing_ under the inflictions of your honest proser. Of all the boring machines ever devised, your regular and determined story-teller is the most peremptory and powerful in his operations." "With what perfect placidity he submitted to be bored even by bores of the first water!" says Lockhart. The species is one which we all have many opportunities of studying, but it may be admitted that Scott produced his studies of bores with a certain complacency. Yet they are all different bores, and the gay, kind _scald_ Halcro is very unlike Master Mumblasen or Dominie Sampson. For a hero Mordaunt may be called almost sprightly and individual. His mysterious father occasionally suggests the influence of Byron, occasionally of Mrs. Radcliffe. The Udaller is as individual and genial as Dandie Dinmont himself; or, again, he is the Cedric of Thule, though much more sympathetic than Cedric to most readers. His affection for his daughters is characteristic and deserved. Many a pair of sisters, blonde and brune, have we met in fiction since Minna and Brenda, but none have been their peers, and, like Mordaunt in early years, we know not to which of them our hearts are given. They are "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso" of the North, and it is probable that all men would fall in love with Minna if they had the chance, and marry Brenda, if they could. Minna is, indeed, the ideal youth of poetry, and Brenda of the practical life. The innocent illusions of Minna, her love of all that is old, her championship of the forlorn cause, her beauty, her tenderness, her truth, her passionate waywardness of sorrow, make her one of Scott's most original and delightful heroines. She believes and trembles not, like Bertram in "Rokeby." Brenda trembles, but does not believe in Norna's magic, and in the spirits of ancient saga. As for Cleveland, Scott managed to avoid Byron's Lara-like pirates, and produced a freebooter as sympathetic as any _hostis humani generis_ can be, while "Frederick Altamont" (Thackeray borrowed the name for his romantic crossing-sweeper) has a place among the Marischals and Bucklaws of romance. Scott's minute studies in Dryden come to the aid of his local observations, and so, out of not very promising materials, and out of the contrast of Lowland Scot and Orcadian, the romance is spun. Probably the "psychological analysis" which most interested the author is the double consciousness of Norna, the occasional intrusions of the rational self on her dreams of supernatural powers. That double consciousness, indeed, exists in all of us: occasionally the self in which we believe has a vision of the real underlying self, and shudders from the sight, like the pair "who met themselves" in the celebrated drawing. "The Pirate" can scarcely be placed in the front rank of Scott's novels, but it has a high and peculiar place in the second, and probably will always be among the special favourites of those who, being young, are fortunate enough not to be critical. Scott's novels at this time came forth so frequently that the lumbering "Quarterlies" toiled after them in vain. They adopted the plan of reviewing them in batches, and the "Quarterly" may be said to have omitted "The Pirate" altogether. About this time Gifford began to find that the person who spoke of a "dark dialect of Anglified Erse" was not a competent critic, and Mr. Senior noticed several of the tales in a more judicious manner. As to "The Pirate," the "Edinburgh Review" found "the character and story of Mertoun at once commonplace and extravagant." Cleveland disappoints "by turning out so much better than we had expected, and yet substantially so ill." "Nothing can be more beautiful than the description of the sisters." "Norna is a new incarnation of Meg Merrilies, and palpably the same in the spirit ... but far above the rank of a mere imitated or borrowed character." "The work, on the whole, opens up a new world to our curiosity, and affords another proof of the extreme pliability, as well as vigour, of the author's genius." ANDREW LANG. _August 1893._ FOOTNOTES: [1] Lockhart, vi. 388-393. Erskine died before Scott, slain by a silly piece of gossip, and Mr. Skene says: "I never saw Sir Walter so much affected by any event, and at the funeral, which he attended, he was quite unable to suppress his feelings, but wept like a child." His correspondence with Scott fell into the hands of a lady, who, seeing that it revealed the secret of Scott's authorship, most unfortunately burned all the letters. (Journal, i. 416.) [2] Scott's Diary, July 29, 1814. Lockhart, vi. 183. [3] See Author's Note No. I. [4] Diary; Lockhart, iv. 223. [5] "Atalanta," December 1892. INTRODUCTION TO THE PIRATE. "Quoth he, there was a ship." This brief preface may begin like the tale of the Ancient Mariner, since it was on shipboard that the author acquired the very moderate degree of local knowledge and information, both of people and scenery, which he has endeavoured to embody in the romance of the Pirate. In the summer and autumn of 1814, the author was invited to join a party of Commissioners for the Northern Light-House Service, who proposed making a voyage round the coast of Scotland, and through its various groups of islands, chiefly for the purpose of seeing the condition of the many lighthouses under their direction,--edifices so important, whether regarding them as benevolent or political institutions. Among the commissioners who manage this important public concern, the sheriff of each county of Scotland which borders on the sea, holds ex-officio a place at the Board. These gentlemen act in every respect gratuitously, but have the use of an armed yacht, well found and fitted up, when they choose to visit the lighthouses. An excellent engineer, Mr. Robert Stevenson, is attached to the Board, to afford the benefit of his professional advice. The author accompanied this expedition as a guest; for Selkirkshire, though it calls him Sheriff, has not, like the kingdom of Bohemia in Corporal Trim's story, a seaport in its circuit, nor its magistrate, of course, any place at the Board of Commissioners,--a circumstance of little consequence where all were old and intimate friends, bred to the same profession, and disposed to accommodate each other in every possible manner. The nature of the important business which was the principal purpose of the voyage, was connected with the amusement of visiting the leading objects of a traveller's curiosity; for the wild cape, or formidable shelve, which requires to be marked out by a lighthouse, is generally at no great distance from the most magnificent scenery of rocks, caves, and billows. Our time, too, was at our own disposal, and, as most of us were freshwater sailors, we could at any time make a fair wind out of a foul one, and run before the gale in quest of some object of curiosity which lay under our lee. With these purposes of public utility and some personal amusement in view, we left the port of Leith on the 26th July, 1814, ran along the east coast of Scotland, viewing its different curiosities, stood over to Zetland and Orkney, where we were some time detained by the wonders of a country which displayed so much that was new to us; and having seen what was curious in the Ultima Thule of the ancients, where the sun hardly thought it worth while to go to bed, since his rising was at this season so early, we doubled the extreme northern termination of Scotland, and took a rapid survey of the Hebrides, where we found many kind friends. There, that our little expedition might not want the dignity of danger, we were favoured with a distant glimpse of what was said to be an American cruiser, and had opportunity to consider what a pretty figure we should have made had the voyage ended in our being carried captive to the United States. After visiting the romantic shores of Morven, and the vicinity of Oban, we made a run to the coast of Ireland, and visited the Giant's Causeway, that we might compare it with Staffa, which we had surveyed in our course. At length, about the middle of September, we ended our voyage in the Clyde, at the port of Greenock. And thus terminated our pleasant tour, to which our equipment gave unusual facilities, as the ship's company could form a strong boat's crew, independent of those who might be left on board the vessel, which permitted us the freedom to land wherever our curiosity carried us. Let me add, while reviewing for a moment a sunny portion of my life, that among the six or seven friends who performed this voyage together, some of them doubtless of different tastes and pursuits, and remaining for several weeks on board a small vessel, there never occurred the slightest dispute or disagreement, each seeming anxious to submit his own particular wishes to those of his friends. By this mutual accommodation all the purposes of our little expedition were obtained, while for a time we might have adopted the lines of Allan Cunningham's fine sea-song, "The world of waters was our home, And merry men were we!" But sorrow mixes her memorials with the purest remembrances of pleasure. On returning from the voyage which had proved so satisfactory, I found that fate had deprived her country most unexpectedly of a lady, qualified to adorn the high rank which she held, and who had long admitted me to a share of her friendship. The subsequent loss of one of those comrades who made up the party, and he the most intimate friend I had in the world, casts also its shade on recollections which, but for these embitterments, would be otherwise so pleasing. I may here briefly observe, that my business in this voyage, so far as I could be said to have any, was to endeavour to discover some localities which might be useful in the "Lord of the Isles," a poem with which I was then threatening the public, and was afterwards printed without attaining remarkable success. But as at the same time the anonymous novel of "Waverley" was making its way to popularity, I already augured the possibility of a second effort in this department of literature, and I saw much in the wild islands of the Orkneys and Zetland, which I judged might be made in the highest degree interesting, should these isles ever become the scene of a narrative of fictitious events. I learned the history of Gow the pirate from an old sibyl, (the subject of a note, p. 326 of this volume,) whose principal subsistence was by a trade in favourable winds, which she sold to mariners at Stromness. Nothing could be more interesting than the kindness and hospitality of the gentlemen of Zetland, which was to me the more affecting, as several of them had been friends and correspondents of my father. I was induced to go a generation or two farther back, to find materials from which I might trace the features of the old Norwegian Udaller, the Scottish gentry having in general occupied the place of that primitive race, and their language and peculiarities of manner having entirely disappeared. The only difference now to be observed betwixt the gentry of these islands, and those of Scotland in general, is, that the wealth and property is more equally divided among our more northern countrymen, and that there exists among the resident proprietors no men of very great wealth, whose display of its luxuries might render the others discontented with their own lot. From the same cause of general equality of fortunes, and the cheapness of living, which is its natural consequence, I found the officers of a veteran regiment who had maintained the garrison at Fort Charlotte, in Lerwick, discomposed at the idea of being recalled from a country where their pay, however inadequate to the expenses of a capital, was fully adequate to their wants, and it was singular to hear natives of merry England herself regretting their approaching departure from the melancholy isles of the Ultima Thule. Such are the trivial particulars attending the origin of that publication, which took place several years later than the agreeable journey from which it took its rise. The state of manners which I have introduced in the romance, was necessarily in a great degree imaginary, though founded in some measure on slight hints, which, showing what was, seemed to give reasonable indication of what must once have been, the tone of the society in these sequestered but interesting islands. In one respect I was judged somewhat hastily, perhaps, when the character of Norna was pronounced by the critics a mere copy of Meg Merrilees. That I had fallen short of what I wished and desired to express is unquestionable, otherwise my object could not have been so widely mistaken; nor can I yet think that any person who will take the trouble of reading the Pirate with some attention, can fail to trace in Norna,--the victim of remorse and insanity, and the dupe of her own imposture, her mind, too, flooded with all the wild literature and extravagant superstitions of the north,--something distinct from the Dumfries-shire gipsy, whose pretensions to supernatural powers are not beyond those of a Norwood prophetess. The foundations of such a character may be perhaps traced, though it be too true that the necessary superstructure cannot have been raised upon them, otherwise these remarks would have been unnecessary. There is also great improbability in the statement of Norna's possessing power and opportunity to impress on others that belief in her supernatural gifts which distracted her own mind. Yet, amid a very credulous and ignorant population, it is astonishing what success may be attained by an impostor, who is, at the same time, an enthusiast. It is such as to remind us of the couplet which assures us that "The pleasure is as great In being cheated as to cheat." Indeed, as I have observed elsewhere, the professed explanation of a tale, where appearances or incidents of a supernatural character are referred to natural causes, has often, in the winding up of the story, a degree of improbability almost equal to an absolute goblin narrative. Even the genius of Mrs. Radcliffe could not always surmount this difficulty. ABBOTSFORD, _1st May, 1831._ ADVERTISEMENT. The purpose of the following Narrative is to give a detailed and accurate account of certain remarkable incidents which took place in the Orkney Islands, concerning which the more imperfect traditions and mutilated records of the country only tell us the following erroneous particulars:-- In the month of January, 1724-5, a vessel, called the Revenge, bearing twenty large guns, and six smaller, commanded by JOHN GOW, or GOFFE, or SMITH, came to the Orkney Islands, and was discovered to be a pirate, by various acts of insolence and villainy committed by the crew. These were for some time submitted to, the inhabitants of these remote islands not possessing arms nor means of resistance; and so bold was the Captain of these banditti, that he not only came ashore, and gave dancing parties in the village of Stromness, but before his real character was discovered, engaged the affections, and received the troth-plight, of a young lady possessed of some property. A patriotic individual, JAMES FEA, younger of Clestron, formed the plan of securing the buccanier, which he effected by a mixture of courage and address, in consequence chiefly of Gow's vessel having gone on shore near the harbour of Calfsound, on the Island of Eda, not far distant from a house then inhabited by Mr. FEA. In the various stratagems by which Mr. FEA contrived finally, at the peril of his life, (they being well armed and desperate,) to make the whole pirates his prisoners, he was much aided by Mr. JAMES LAING, the grandfather of the late MALCOLM LAING, Esq., the acute and ingenious historian of Scotland during the 17th century. Gow, and others of his crew, suffered, by sentence of the High Court of Admiralty, the punishment their crimes had long deserved. He conducted himself with great audacity when before the Court; and, from an account of the matter by an eye-witness, seems to have been subjected to some unusual severities, in order to compel him to plead. The words are these: "JOHN GOW would not plead, for which he was brought to the bar, and the Judge ordered that his thumbs should be squeezed by two men, with a whip-cord, till it did break; and then it should be doubled, till it did again break, and then laid threefold, and that the executioners should pull with their whole strength; which sentence Gow endured with a great deal of boldness." The next morning, (27th May, 1725,) when he had seen the terrible preparations for pressing him to death, his courage gave way, and he told the Marshal of Court, that he would not have given so much trouble, had he been assured of not being hanged in chains. He was then tried, condemned, and executed, with others of his crew. It is said, that the lady whose affections GOW had engaged, went up to London to see him before his death, and that, arriving too late, she had the courage to request a sight of his dead body; and then, touching the hand of the corpse, she formally resumed the troth-plight which she had bestowed. Without going through this ceremony, she could not, according to the superstition of the country, have escaped a visit from the ghost of her departed lover, in the event of her bestowing upon any living suitor the faith which she had plighted to the dead. This part of the legend may serve as a curious commentary on the fine Scottish ballad, which begins, "There came a ghost to Margaret's door," &c.(_a_)[6] The common account of this incident farther bears, that Mr. FEA, the spirited individual by whose exertions GOW'S career of iniquity was cut short, was so far from receiving any reward from Government, that he could not obtain even countenance enough to protect him against a variety of sham suits, raised against him by Newgate solicitors, who acted in the name of GOW, and others of the pirate crew; and the various expenses, vexatious prosecutions, and other legal consequences, in which his gallant exploit involved him, utterly ruined his fortune, and his family; making his memory a notable example to all who shall in future take pirates on their own authority. It is to be supposed, for the honour of GEORGE the First's Government, that the last circumstance, as well as the dates, and other particulars of the commonly received story, are inaccurate, since they will be found totally irreconcilable with the following veracious narrative, compiled from materials to which he himself alone has had access, by THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY. FOOTNOTES: [6] See Editor's Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a similar reference occurs, the reader will understand that the same direction applies. THE PIRATE. CHAPTER I. The storm had ceased its wintry roar, Hoarse dash the billows of the sea; But who on Thule's desert shore, Cries, Have I burnt my harp for thee? MACNIEL. That long, narrow, and irregular island, usually called the mainland of Zetland, because it is by far the largest of that Archipelago, terminates, as is well known to the mariners who navigate the stormy seas which surround the Thule of the ancients, in a cliff of immense height, entitled Sumburgh-Head, which presents its bare scalp and naked sides to the weight of a tremendous surge, forming the extreme point of the isle to the south-east. This lofty promontory is constantly exposed to the current of a strong and furious tide, which, setting in betwixt the Orkney and Zetland Islands, and running with force only inferior to that of the Pentland Frith, takes its name from the headland we have mentioned, and is called the Roost of Sumburgh; _roost_ being the phrase assigned in those isles to currents of this description. On the land side, the promontory is covered with short grass, and slopes steeply down to a little isthmus, upon which the sea has encroached in creeks, which, advancing from either side of the island, gradually work their way forward, and seem as if in a short time they would form a junction, and altogether insulate Sumburgh-Head, when what is now a cape, will become a lonely mountain islet, severed from the mainland, of which it is at present the terminating extremity. Man, however, had in former days considered this as a remote or unlikely event; for a Norwegian chief of other times, or, as other accounts said, and as the name of Jarlshof seemed to imply, an ancient Earl of the Orkneys had selected this neck of land as the place for establishing a mansion-house. It has been long entirely deserted, and the vestiges only can be discerned with difficulty; for the loose sand, borne on the tempestuous gales of those stormy regions, has overblown, and almost buried, the ruins of the buildings; but in the end of the seventeenth century, a part of the Earl's mansion was still entire and habitable. It was a rude building of rough stone, with nothing about it to gratify the eye, or to excite the imagination; a large old-fashioned narrow house, with a very steep roof, covered with flags composed of grey sandstone, would perhaps convey the best idea of the place to a modern reader. The windows were few, very small in size, and distributed up and down the building with utter contempt of regularity. Against the main structure had rested, in former times, certain smaller co-partments of the mansion-house, containing offices, or subordinate apartments, necessary for the accommodation of the Earl's retainers and menials. But these had become ruinous; and the rafters had been taken down for fire-wood, or for other purposes; the walls had given way in many places; and, to complete the devastation, the sand had already drifted amongst the ruins, and filled up what had been once the chambers they contained, to the depth of two or three feet. Amid this desolation, the inhabitants of Jarlshof had contrived, by constant labour and attention, to keep in order a few roods of land, which had been enclosed as a garden, and which, sheltered by the walls of the house itself, from the relentless sea-blast, produced such vegetables as the climate could bring forth, or rather as the sea-gale would permit to grow; for these islands experience even less of the rigour of cold than is encountered on the mainland of Scotland; but, unsheltered by a wall of some sort or other, it is scarce possible to raise even the most ordinary culinary vegetables; and as for shrubs or trees, they are entirely out of the question, such is the force of the sweeping sea-blast. At a short distance from the mansion, and near to the sea-beach, just where the creek forms a sort of imperfect harbour, in which lay three or four fishing-boats, there were a few most wretched cottages for the inhabitants and tenants of the township of Jarlshof, who held the whole district of the landlord upon such terms as were in those days usually granted to persons of this description, and which, of course, were hard enough. The landlord himself resided upon an estate which he possessed in a more eligible situation, in a different part of the island, and seldom visited his possessions at Sumburgh-Head. He was an honest, plain Zetland gentleman, somewhat passionate, the necessary result of being surrounded by dependents; and somewhat over-convivial in his habits, the consequence, perhaps, of having too much time at his disposal; but frank-tempered and generous to his people, and kind and hospitable to strangers. He was descended also of an old and noble Norwegian family; a circumstance which rendered him dearer to the lower orders, most of whom are of the same race; while the lairds, or proprietors, are generally of Scottish extraction, who, at that early period, were still considered as strangers and intruders. Magnus Troil, who deduced his descent from the very Earl who was supposed to have founded Jarlshof, was peculiarly of this opinion. The present inhabitants of Jarlshof had experienced, on several occasions, the kindness and good will of the proprietor of the territory. When Mr. Mertoun--such was the name of the present inhabitant of the old mansion--first arrived in Zetland, some years before the story commences, he had been received at the house of Mr. Troil with that warm and cordial hospitality for which the islands are distinguished. No one asked him whence he came, where he was going, what was his purpose in visiting so remote a corner of the empire, or what was likely to be the term of his stay. He arrived a perfect stranger, yet was instantly overpowered by a succession of invitations; and in each house which he visited, he found a home as long as he chose to accept it, and lived as one of the family, unnoticed and unnoticing, until he thought proper to remove to some other dwelling. This apparent indifference to the rank, character, and qualities of their guest, did not arise from apathy on the part of his kind hosts, for the islanders had their full share of natural curiosity; but their delicacy deemed it would be an infringement upon the laws of hospitality, to ask questions which their guest might have found it difficult or unpleasing to answer; and instead of endeavouring, as is usual in other countries, to wring out of Mr. Mertoun such communications as he might find it agreeable to withhold, the considerate Zetlanders contented themselves with eagerly gathering up such scraps of information as could be collected in the course of conversation. But the rock in an Arabian desert is not more reluctant to afford water, than Mr. Basil Mertoun was niggard in imparting his confidence, even incidentally; and certainly the politeness of the gentry of Thule was never put to a more severe test than when they felt that good-breeding enjoined them to abstain from enquiring into the situation of so mysterious a personage. All that was actually known of him was easily summed up. Mr. Mertoun had come to Lerwick, then rising into some importance, but not yet acknowledged as the principal town of the island, in a Dutch vessel, accompanied only by his son, a handsome boy of about fourteen years old. His own age might exceed forty. The Dutch skipper introduced him to some of the very good friends with whom he used to barter gin and gingerbread for little Zetland bullocks, smoked geese, and stockings of lambs-wool; and although Meinheer could only say, that "Meinheer Mertoun hab bay his bassage like one gentlemans, and hab given a Kreitz-dollar beside to the crew," this introduction served to establish the Dutchman's passenger in a respectable circle of acquaintances, which gradually enlarged, as it appeared that the stranger was a man of considerable acquirements. This discovery was made almost _per force_; for Mertoun was as unwilling to speak upon general subjects, as upon his own affairs. But he was sometimes led into discussions, which showed, as it were in spite of himself, the scholar and the man of the world; and, at other times, as if in requital of the hospitality which he experienced, he seemed to compel himself, against his fixed nature, to enter into the society of those around him, especially when it assumed the grave, melancholy, or satirical cast, which best suited the temper of his own mind. Upon such occasions, the Zetlanders were universally of opinion that he must have had an excellent education, neglected only in one striking particular, namely, that Mr. Mertoun scarce knew the stem of a ship from the stern; and in the management of a boat, a cow could not be more ignorant. It seemed astonishing such gross ignorance of the most necessary art of life (in the Zetland Isles at least) should subsist along with his accomplishments in other respects; but so it was. Unless called forth in the manner we have mentioned, the habits of Basil Mertoun were retired and gloomy. From loud mirth he instantly fled; and even the moderated cheerfulness of a friendly party, had the invariable effect of throwing him into deeper dejection than even his usual demeanour indicated. Women are always particularly desirous of investigating mystery, and of alleviating melancholy, especially when these circumstances are united in a handsome man about the prime of life. It is possible, therefore, that amongst the fair-haired and blue-eyed daughters of Thule, this mysterious and pensive stranger might have found some one to take upon herself the task of consolation, had he shown any willingness to accept such kindly offices; but, far from doing so, he seemed even to shun the presence of the sex, to which in our distresses, whether of mind or body, we generally apply for pity and comfort. To these peculiarities Mr. Mertoun added another, which was particularly disagreeable to his host and principal patron, Magnus Troil. This magnate of Zetland, descended by the father's side, as we have already said, from an ancient Norwegian family, by the marriage of its representative with a Danish lady, held the devout opinion that a cup of Geneva or Nantz was specific against all cares and afflictions whatever. These were remedies to which Mr. Mertoun never applied; his drink was water, and water alone, and no persuasion or entreaties could induce him to taste any stronger beverage than was afforded by the pure spring. Now this Magnus Troil could not tolerate; it was a defiance to the ancient northern laws of conviviality, which, for his own part, he had so rigidly observed, that although he was wont to assert that he had never in his life gone to bed drunk, (that is, in his own sense of the word,) it would have been impossible to prove that he had ever resigned himself to slumber in a state of actual and absolute sobriety. It may be therefore asked, What did this stranger bring into society to compensate the displeasure given by his austere and abstemious habits? He had, in the first place, that manner and self-importance which mark a person of some consequence: and although it was conjectured that he could not be rich, yet it was certainly known by his expenditure that neither was he absolutely poor. He had, besides, some powers of conversation, when, as we have already hinted, he chose to exert them, and his misanthropy or aversion to the business and intercourse of ordinary life, was often expressed in an antithetical manner, which passed for wit, when better was not to be had. Above all, Mr. Mertoun's secret seemed impenetrable, and his presence had all the interest of a riddle, which men love to read over and over, because they cannot find out the meaning of it. Notwithstanding these recommendations, Mertoun differed in so many material points from his host, that after he had been for some time a guest at his principal residence, Magnus Troil was agreeably surprised when, one evening after they had sat two hours in absolute silence, drinking brandy and water,--that is, Magnus drinking the alcohol, and Mertoun the element,--the guest asked his host's permission to occupy, as his tenant, this deserted mansion of Jarlshof, at the extremity of the territory called Dunrossness, and situated just beneath Sumburgh-Head. "I shall be handsomely rid of him," quoth Magnus to himself, "and his kill-joy visage will never again stop the bottle in its round. His departure will ruin me in lemons, however, for his mere look was quite sufficient to sour a whole ocean of punch." Yet the kind-hearted Zetlander generously and disinterestedly remonstrated with Mr. Mertoun on the solitude and inconveniences to which he was about to subject himself. "There were scarcely," he said, "even the most necessary articles of furniture in the old house--there was no society within many miles--for provisions, the principal article of food would be sour sillocks, and his only company gulls and gannets." "My good friend," replied Mertoun, "if you could have named a circumstance which would render the residence more eligible to me than any other, it is that there would be neither human luxury nor human society near the place of my retreat; a shelter from the weather for my own head, and for the boy's, is all I seek for. So name your rent, Mr. Troil, and let me be your tenant at Jarlshof." "Rent?" answered the Zetlander; "why, no great rent for an old house which no one has lived in since my mother's time--God rest her!--and as for shelter, the old walls are thick enough, and will bear many a bang yet. But, Heaven love you, Mr. Mertoun, think what you are purposing. For one of us to live at Jarlshof, were a wild scheme enough; but you, who are from another country, whether English, Scotch, or Irish, no one can tell"---- "Nor does it greatly matter," said Mertoun, somewhat abruptly. "Not a herring's scale," answered the Laird; "only that I like you the better for being no Scot, as I trust you are not one. Hither they have come like the clack-geese--every chamberlain has brought over a flock of his own name, and his own hatching, for what I know, and here they roost for ever--catch them returning to their own barren Highlands or Lowlands, when once they have tasted our Zetland beef, and seen our bonny _voes_ and lochs. No, sir," (here Magnus proceeded with great animation, sipping from time to time the half-diluted spirit, which at the same time animated his resentment against the intruders, and enabled him to endure the mortifying reflection which it suggested,)--"No, sir, the ancient days and the genuine manners of these Islands are no more; for our ancient possessors,--our Patersons, our Feas, our Schlagbrenners, our Thorbiorns, have given place to Giffords, Scotts, Mouats, men whose names bespeak them or their ancestors strangers to the soil which we the Troils have inhabited long before the days of Turf-Einar, who first taught these Isles the mystery of burning peat for fuel, and who has been handed down to a grateful posterity by a name which records the discovery." This was a subject upon which the potentate of Jarlshof was usually very diffuse, and Mertoun saw him enter upon it with pleasure, because he knew he should not be called upon to contribute any aid to the conversation, and might therefore indulge his own saturnine humour while the Norwegian Zetlander declaimed on the change of times and inhabitants. But just as Magnus had arrived at the melancholy conclusion, "how probable it was, that in another century scarce a _merk_--scarce even an _ure_ of land, would be in the possession of the Norse inhabitants, the true Udallers[7] of Zetland," he recollected the circumstances of his guest, and stopped suddenly short. "I do not say all this," he added, interrupting himself, "as if I were unwilling that you should settle on my estate, Mr. Mertoun--But for Jarlshof--the place is a wild one--Come from where you will, I warrant you will say, like other travellers, you came from a better climate than ours, for so say you all. And yet you think of a retreat, which the very natives run away from. Will you not take your glass?"--(This was to be considered as interjectional,)--"then here's to you." "My good sir," answered Mertoun, "I am indifferent to climate; if there is but air enough to fill my lungs, I care not if it be the breath of Arabia or of Lapland." "Air enough you may have," answered Magnus, "no lack of that--somewhat damp, strangers allege it to be, but we know a corrective for that--Here's to you, Mr. Mertoun--You must learn to _do so_, and to smoke a pipe; and then, as you say, you will find the air of Zetland equal to that of Arabia. But have you seen Jarlshof?" The stranger intimated that he had not. "Then," replied Magnus, "you have no idea of your undertaking. If you think it a comfortable roadstead like this, with the house situated on the side of an inland voe,[8] that brings the herrings up to your door, you are mistaken, my heart. At Jarlshof you will see nought but the wild waves tumbling on the bare rocks, and the Roost of Sumburgh running at the rate of fifteen knots an-hour." "I shall see nothing at least of the current of human passions," replied Mertoun. "You will hear nothing but the clanging and screaming of scarts, sheer-waters, and seagulls, from daybreak till sunset." "I will compound, my friend," replied the stranger, "so that I do not hear the chattering of women's tongues." "Ah," said the Norman, "that is because you hear just now my little Minna and Brenda singing in the garden with your Mordaunt. Now, I would rather listen to their little voices, than the skylark which I once heard in Caithness, or the nightingale that I have read of.--What will the girls do for want of their playmate Mordaunt?" "They will shift for themselves," answered Mertoun; "younger or elder they will find playmates or dupes.--But the question is, Mr. Troil, will you let to me, as your tenant, this old mansion of Jarlshof?" "Gladly, since you make it your option to live in a spot so desolate." "And as for the rent?" continued Mertoun. "The rent?" replied Magnus; "hum--why, you must have the bit of _plantie cruive_,[9] which they once called a garden, and a right in the _scathold_, and a sixpenny merk of land, that the tenants may fish for you;--eight _lispunds_[10] of butter, and eight shillings sterling yearly, is not too much?" Mr. Mertoun agreed to terms so moderate, and from thenceforward resided chiefly at the solitary mansion which we have described in the beginning of this chapter, conforming not only without complaint, but, as it seemed, with a sullen pleasure, to all the privations which so wild and desolate a situation necessarily imposed on its inhabitant. FOOTNOTES: [7] The Udallers are the _allodial_ possessors of Zetland, who hold their possessions under the old Norwegian law, instead of the feudal tenures introduced among them from Scotland. [8] Salt-water lake. [9] Patch of ground for vegetables. The liberal custom of the country permits any person, who has occasion for such a convenience, to select out of the unenclosed moorland a small patch, which he surrounds with a drystone wall, and cultivates as a kailyard, till he exhausts the soil with cropping, and then he deserts it, and encloses another. This liberty is so far from inferring an invasion of the right of proprietor and tenant, that the last degree of contempt is inferred of an avaricious man, when a Zetlander says he would not hold a _plantie cruive_ of him. [10] A lispund is about thirty pounds English, and the value is averaged by Dr. Edmonston at ten shillings sterling. CHAPTER II. 'Tis not alone the scene--the man, Anselmo, The man finds sympathies in these wild wastes, And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views And smoother waves deny him. _Ancient Arama._ The few inhabitants of the township of Jarlshof had at first heard with alarm, that a person of rank superior to their own was come to reside in the ruinous tenement, which they still called the Castle. In those days (for the present times are greatly altered for the better) the presence of a superior, in such a situation, was almost certain to be attended with additional burdens and exactions, for which, under one pretext or another, feudal customs furnished a thousand apologies. By each of these, a part of the tenants' hard-won and precarious profits was diverted for the use of their powerful neighbour and superior, the tacksman, as he was called. But the sub-tenants speedily found that no oppression of this kind was to be apprehended at the hands of Basil Mertoun. His own means, whether large or small, were at least fully adequate to his expenses, which, so far as regarded his habits of life, were of the most frugal description. The luxuries of a few books, and some philosophical instruments, with which he was supplied from London as occasion offered, seemed to indicate a degree of wealth unusual in those islands; but, on the other hand, the table and the accommodations at Jarlshof, did not exceed what was maintained by a Zetland proprietor of the most inferior description. The tenants of the hamlet troubled themselves very little about the quality of their superior, as soon as they found that their situation was rather to be mended than rendered worse by his presence; and, once relieved from the apprehension of his tyrannizing over them, they laid their heads together to make the most of him by various petty tricks of overcharge and extortion, which for a while the stranger submitted to with the most philosophic indifference. An incident, however, occurred, which put his character in a new light, and effectually checked all future efforts at extravagant imposition. A dispute arose in the kitchen of the Castle betwixt an old governante, who acted as housekeeper to Mr. Mertoun, and Sweyn Erickson, as good a Zetlander as ever rowed a boat to the _haaf_ fishing;[11] which dispute, as is usual in such cases, was maintained with such increasing heat and vociferation as to reach the ears of the master, (as he was called,) who, secluded in a solitary turret, was deeply employed in examining the contents of a new package of books from London, which, after long expectation, had found its way to Hull, from thence by a whaling vessel to Lerwick, and so to Jarlshof. With more than the usual thrill of indignation which indolent people always feel when roused into action on some unpleasant occasion, Mertoun descended to the scene of contest, and so suddenly, peremptorily, and strictly, enquired into the cause of dispute, that the parties, notwithstanding every evasion which they attempted, became unable to disguise from him, that their difference respected the several interests to which the honest governante, and no less honest fisherman, were respectively entitled, in an overcharge of about one hundred per cent on a bargain of rock-cod, purchased by the former from the latter, for the use of the family at Jarlshof. When this was fairly ascertained and confessed, Mr. Mertoun stood looking upon the culprits with eyes in which the utmost scorn seemed to contend with awakening passion. "Hark you, ye old hag," said he at length to the housekeeper, "avoid my house this instant! and know that I dismiss you, not for being a liar, a thief, and an ungrateful quean,--for these are qualities as proper to you as your name of woman,--but for daring, in my house, to scold above your breath.--And for you, you rascal, who suppose you may cheat a stranger as you would _flinch_[12] a whale, know that I am well acquainted with the rights which, by delegation from your master, Magnus Troil, I can exercise over you, if I will. Provoke me to a certain pitch, and you shall learn, to your cost, I can break your rest as easily as you can interrupt my leisure. I know the meaning of _scat_, and _wattle_, and _hawkhen_, and _hagalef_,(_b_) and every other exaction, by which your lords, in ancient and modern days, have wrung your withers; nor is there one of you that shall not rue the day that you could not be content with robbing me of my money, but must also break in on my leisure with your atrocious northern clamour, that rivals in discord the screaming of a flight of Arctic gulls." Nothing better occurred to Sweyn, in answer to this objurgation, than the preferring a humble request that his honour would be pleased to keep the cod-fish without payment, and say no more about the matter; but by this time Mr. Mertoun had worked up his passions into an ungovernable rage, and with one hand he threw the money at the fisherman's head, while with the other he pelted him out of the apartment with his own fish, which he finally flung out of doors after him. There was so much of appalling and tyrannic fury in the stranger's manner on this occasion, that Sweyn neither stopped to collect the money nor take back his commodity, but fled at a precipitate rate to the small hamlet, to tell his comrades that if they provoked Master Mertoun any farther, he would turn an absolute Pate Stewart[13] on their hand, and head and hang without either judgment or mercy. Hither also came the discarded housekeeper, to consult with her neighbours and kindred (for she too was a native of the village) what she should do to regain the desirable situation from which she had been so suddenly expelled. The old Ranzellaar of the village, who had the voice most potential in the deliberations of the township, after hearing what had happened, pronounced that Sweyn Erickson had gone too far in raising the market upon Mr. Mertoun; and that whatever pretext the tacksman might assume for thus giving way to his anger, the real grievance must have been the charging the rock cod-fish at a penny instead of a half-penny a-pound; he therefore exhorted all the community never to raise their exactions in future beyond the proportion of threepence upon the shilling, at which rate their master at the Castle could not reasonably be expected to grumble, since, as he was disposed to do them no harm, it was reasonable to think that, in a moderate way, he had no objection to do them good. "And three upon twelve," said the experienced Ranzellaar, "is a decent and moderate profit, and will bring with it God's blessing and Saint Ronald's." Proceeding upon the tariff thus judiciously recommended to them, the inhabitants of Jarlshof cheated Mertoun in future only to the moderate extent of twenty-five per cent; a rate to which all nabobs, army-contractors, speculators in the funds, and others, whom recent and rapid success has enabled to settle in the country upon a great scale, ought to submit, as very reasonable treatment at the hand of their rustic neighbours. Mertoun at least seemed of that opinion, for he gave himself no farther trouble upon the subject of his household expenses. The conscript fathers of Jarlshof, having settled their own matters, took next under their consideration the case of Swertha, the banished matron who had been expelled from the Castle, whom, as an experienced and useful ally, they were highly desirous to restore to her office of housekeeper, should that be found possible. But as their wisdom here failed them, Swertha, in despair, had recourse to the good offices of Mordaunt Mertoun, with whom she had acquired some favour by her knowledge in old Norwegian ballads, and dismal tales concerning the Trows or Drows, (the dwarfs of the Scalds,) with whom superstitious eld had peopled many a lonely cavern and brown dale in Dunrossness, as in every other district of Zetland. "Swertha," said the youth, "I can do but little for you, but you may do something for yourself. My father's passion resembles the fury of those ancient champions, those Berserkars, you sing songs about." "Ay, ay, fish of my heart," replied the old woman, with a pathetic whine; "the Berserkars(_c_) were champions who lived before the blessed days of Saint Olave, and who used to run like madmen on swords, and spears, and harpoons, and muskets, and snap them all into pieces, as a finner[14] would go through a herring-net, and then, when the fury went off, they were as weak and unstable as water."[15] "That's the very thing, Swertha," said Mordaunt. "Now, my father never likes to think of his passion after it is over, and is so much of a Berserkar, that, let him be desperate as he will to-day, he will not care about it to-morrow. Therefore, he has not filled up your place in the household at the Castle, and not a mouthful of warm food has been dressed there since you went away, and not a morsel of bread baked, but we have lived just upon whatever cold thing came to hand. Now, Swertha, I will be your warrant, that if you go boldly up to the Castle, and enter upon the discharge of your duties as usual, you will never hear a single word from him." Swertha hesitated at first to obey this bold counsel. She said, "to her thinking, Mr. Mertoun, when he was angry, looked more like a fiend than any Berserkar of them all; that the fire flashed from his eyes, and the foam flew from his lips; and that it would be a plain tempting of Providence to put herself again in such a venture." But, on the encouragement which she received from the son, she determined at length once more to face the parent; and, dressing herself in her ordinary household attire, for so Mordaunt particularly recommended, she slipped into the Castle, and presently resuming the various and numerous occupations which devolved on her, seemed as deeply engaged in household cares as if she had never been out of office. The first day of her return to her duty, Swertha made no appearance in presence of her master, but trusted that after his three days' diet on cold meat, a hot dish, dressed with the best of her simple skill, might introduce her favourably to his recollection. When Mordaunt had reported that his father had taken no notice of this change of diet, and when she herself observed that in passing and repassing him occasionally, her appearance produced no effect upon her singular master, she began to imagine that the whole affair had escaped Mr. Mertoun's memory, and was active in her duty as usual. Neither was she convinced of the contrary until one day, when, happening somewhat to elevate her tone in a dispute with the other maid-servant, her master, who at that time passed the place of contest, eyed her with a strong glance, and pronounced the single word, _Remember!_ in a tone which taught Swertha the government of her tongue for many weeks after. If Mertoun was whimsical in his mode of governing his household, he seemed no less so in his plan of educating his son. He showed the youth but few symptoms of parental affection; yet, in his ordinary state of mind, the improvement of Mordaunt's education seemed to be the utmost object of his life. He had both books and information sufficient to discharge the task of tutor in the ordinary branches of knowledge; and in this capacity was regular, calm, and strict, not to say severe, in exacting from his pupil the attention necessary for his profiting. But in the perusal of history, to which their attention was frequently turned, as well as in the study of classic authors, there often occurred facts or sentiments which produced an instant effect upon Mertoun's mind, and brought on him suddenly what Swertha, Sweyn, and even Mordaunt, came to distinguish by the name of his dark hour. He was aware, in the usual case, of its approach, and retreated to an inner apartment, into which he never permitted even Mordaunt to enter. Here he would abide in seclusion for days, and even weeks, only coming out at uncertain times, to take such food as they had taken care to leave within his reach, which he used in wonderfully small quantities. At other times, and especially during the winter solstice, when almost every person spends the gloomy time within doors in feasting and merriment, this unhappy man would wrap himself in a dark-coloured sea-cloak, and wander out along the stormy beach, or upon the desolate heath, indulging his own gloomy and wayward reveries under the inclement sky, the rather that he was then most sure to wander unencountered and unobserved. As Mordaunt grew older, he learned to note the particular signs which preceded these fits of gloomy despondency, and to direct such precautions as might ensure his unfortunate parent from ill-timed interruption, (which had always the effect of driving him to fury,) while, at the same time, full provision was made for his subsistence. Mordaunt perceived that at such periods the melancholy fit of his father was greatly prolonged, if he chanced to present himself to his eyes while the dark hour was upon him. Out of respect, therefore, to his parent, as well as to indulge the love of active exercise and of amusement natural to his period of life, Mordaunt used often to absent himself altogether from the mansion of Jarlshof, and even from the district, secure that his father, if the dark hour passed away in his absence, would be little inclined to enquire how his son had disposed of his leisure, so that he was sure he had not watched his own weak moments; that being the subject on which he entertained the utmost jealousy. At such times, therefore, all the sources of amusement which the country afforded, were open to the younger Mertoun, who, in these intervals of his education, had an opportunity to give full scope to the energies of a bold, active, and daring character. He was often engaged with the youth of the hamlet in those desperate sports, to which the "dreadful trade of the samphire-gatherer" is like a walk upon level ground--often joined those midnight excursions upon the face of the giddy cliffs, to secure the eggs or the young of the sea-fowl; and in these daring adventures displayed an address, presence of mind, and activity, which, in one so young, and not a native of the country, astonished the oldest fowlers.[16] At other times, Mordaunt accompanied Sweyn and other fishermen in their long and perilous expeditions to the distant and deep sea, learning under their direction the management of the boat, in which they equal, or exceed, perhaps, any natives of the British empire. This exercise had charms for Mordaunt, independently of the fishing alone. At this time, the old Norwegian sagas were much remembered, and often rehearsed, by the fishermen, who still preserved among themselves the ancient Norse tongue, which was the speech of their forefathers. In the dark romance of those Scandinavian tales, lay much that was captivating to a youthful ear; and the classic fables of antiquity were rivalled at least, if not excelled, in Mordaunt's opinion, by the strange legends of Berserkars, of Sea-kings, of dwarfs, giants, and sorcerers, which he heard from the native Zetlanders. Often the scenes around him were assigned as the localities of the wild poems, which, half recited, half chanted by voices as hoarse, if not so loud, as the waves over which they floated, pointed out the very bay on which they sailed as the scene of a bloody sea-fight; the scarce-seen heap of stones that bristled over the projecting cape, as the dun, or castle, of some potent earl or noted pirate; the distant and solitary grey stone on the lonely moor, as marking the grave of a hero; the wild cavern, up which the sea rolled in heavy, broad, and unbroken billows, as the dwelling of some noted sorceress.[17] The ocean also had its mysteries, the effect of which was aided by the dim twilight, through which it was imperfectly seen for more than half the year. Its bottomless depths and secret caves contained, according to the account of Sweyn and others, skilled in legendary lore, such wonders as modern navigators reject with disdain. In the quiet moonlight bay, where the waves came rippling to the shore, upon a bed of smooth sand intermingled with shells, the mermaid was still seen to glide along the waters, and, mingling her voice with the sighing breeze, was often heard to sing of subterranean wonders, or to chant prophecies of future events. The kraken, that hugest of living things, was still supposed to cumber the recesses of the Northern Ocean; and often, when some fog-bank covered the sea at a distance, the eye of the experienced boatman saw the horns of the monstrous leviathan welking and waving amidst the wreaths of mist, and bore away with all press of oar and sail, lest the sudden suction, occasioned by the sinking of the monstrous mass to the bottom, should drag within the grasp of its multifarious feelers his own frail skiff. The sea-snake was also known, which, arising out of the depths of ocean, stretches to the skies his enormous neck, covered with a mane like that of a war-horse, and with its broad glittering eyes, raised mast-head high, looks out, as it seems, for plunder or for victims. Many prodigious stories of these marine monsters, and of many others less known, were then universally received among the Zetlanders, whose descendants have not as yet by any means abandoned faith in them.[18] Such legends are, indeed, everywhere current amongst the vulgar; but the imagination is far more powerfully affected by them on the deep and dangerous seas of the north, amidst precipices and headlands, many hundred feet in height,--amid perilous straits, and currents, and eddies,--long sunken reefs of rock, over which the vivid ocean foams and boils,--dark caverns, to whose extremities neither man nor skiff has ever ventured,--lonely, and often uninhabited isles,--and occasionally the ruins of ancient northern fastnesses, dimly seen by the feeble light of the Arctic winter. To Mordaunt, who had much of romance in his disposition, these superstitions formed a pleasing and interesting exercise of the imagination, while, half doubting, half inclined to believe, he listened to the tales chanted concerning these wonders of nature, and creatures of credulous belief, told in the rude but energetic language of the ancient Scalds. But there wanted not softer and lighter amusement, that might seem better suited to Mordaunt's age, than the wild tales and rude exercises which we have already mentioned. The season of winter, when, from the shortness of the daylight, labour becomes impossible, is in Zetland the time of revel, feasting, and merriment. Whatever the fisherman has been able to acquire during summer, was expended, and often wasted, in maintaining the mirth and hospitality of his hearth during this period; while the landholders and gentlemen of the island gave double loose to their convivial and hospitable dispositions, thronged their houses with guests, and drove away the rigour of the season with jest, glee, and song, the dance, and the wine-cup. Amid the revels of this merry, though rigorous season, no youth added more spirit to the dance, or glee to the revel, than the young stranger, Mordaunt Mertoun. When his father's state of mind permitted, or indeed required, his absence, he wandered from house to house a welcome guest whereever he came, and lent his willing voice to the song, and his foot to the dance. A boat, or, if the weather, as was often the case, permitted not that convenience, one of the numerous ponies, which, straying in hordes about the extensive moors, may be said to be at any man's command who can catch them, conveyed him from the mansion of one hospitable Zetlander to that of another. None excelled him in performing the warlike sword-dance, a species of amusement which had been derived from the habits of the ancient Norsemen. He could play upon the _gue_, and upon the common violin, the melancholy and pathetic tunes peculiar to the country; and with great spirit and execution could relieve their monotony with the livelier airs of the North of Scotland. When a party set forth as maskers, or, as they are called in Scotland, _guizards_, to visit some neighbouring Laird, or rich Udaller, it augured well of the expedition if Mordaunt Mertoun could be prevailed upon to undertake the office of _skudler_, or leader of the band. Upon these occasions, full of fun and frolic, he led his retinue from house to house, bringing mirth where he went, and leaving regret when he departed. Mordaunt became thus generally known and beloved as generally, through most of the houses composing the patriarchal community of the Main Isle; but his visits were most frequently and most willingly paid at the mansion of his father's landlord and protector, Magnus Troil. It was not entirely the hearty and sincere welcome of the worthy old Magnate, nor the sense that he was in effect his father's patron, which occasioned these frequent visits. The hand of welcome was indeed received as eagerly as it was sincerely given, while the ancient Udaller, raising himself in his huge chair, whereof the inside was lined with well-dressed sealskins, and the outside composed of massive oak, carved by the rude graving-tool of some Hamburgh carpenter, shouted forth his welcome in a tone, which might, in ancient times, have hailed the return of _Ioul_, the highest festival of the Goths. There was metal yet more attractive, and younger hearts, whose welcome, if less loud, was as sincere as that of the jolly Udaller. But this is matter which ought not to be discussed at the conclusion of a chapter. FOOTNOTES: [11] _i. e._ The deep-sea fishing, in distinction to that which is practised along shore. [12] The operation of slicing the blubber from the bones of the whale, is called, technically, _flinching_. [13] Meaning, probably, Patrick Stewart, Earl of Orkney, executed for tyranny and oppression practised on the inhabitants of those remote islands, in the beginning of the seventeenth century. [14] _Finner_, small whale. [15] The sagas of the Scalds are full of descriptions of these champions, and do not permit us to doubt that the Berserkars, so called from fighting without armour, used some physical means of working themselves into a frenzy, during which they possessed the strength and energy of madness. The Indian warriors are well known to do the same by dint of opium and bang. [16] Fatal accidents, however, sometimes occur. When I visited the Fair Isle in 1814, a poor lad of fourteen had been killed by a fall from the rocks about a fortnight before our arrival. The accident happened almost within sight of his mother, who was casting peats at no great distance. The body fell into the sea, and was seen no more. But the islanders account this an honourable mode of death; and as the children begin the practice of climbing very early, fewer accidents occur than might be expected. [17] Note I.--Norse Fragments. [18] Note II.--Monsters of the Northern Seas. CHAPTER III. "O, Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lasses; They biggit a house on yon burn-brae, And theekit it ower wi' rashes. Fair Bessy Bell I looed yestreen, And thought I ne'er could alter; But Mary Gray's twa pawky een Have garr'd my fancy falter."(_d_) _Scots Song._ We have already mentioned Minna and Brenda, the daughters of Magnus Troil. Their mother had been dead for many years, and they were now two beautiful girls, the eldest only eighteen, which might be a year or two younger than Mordaunt Mertoun, the second about seventeen.--They were the joy of their father's heart, and the light of his old eyes; and although indulged to a degree which might have endangered his comfort and their own, they repaid his affection with a love, into which even blind indulgence had not introduced slight regard, or feminine caprice. The difference of their tempers and of their complexions was singularly striking, although combined, as is usual, with a certain degree of family resemblance. The mother of these maidens had been a Scottish lady from the Highlands of Sutherland, the orphan of a noble chief, who, driven from his own country during the feuds of the seventeenth century, had found shelter in those peaceful islands, which, amidst poverty and seclusion, were thus far happy, that they remained unvexed by discord, and unstained by civil broil. The father (his name was Saint Clair) pined for his native glen, his feudal tower, his clansmen, and his fallen authority, and died not long after his arrival in Zetland. The beauty of his orphan daughter, despite her Scottish lineage, melted the stout heart of Magnus Troil. He sued and was listened to, and she became his bride; but dying in the fifth year of their union, left him to mourn his brief period of domestic happiness. From her mother, Minna inherited the stately form and dark eyes, the raven locks and finely-pencilled brows, which showed she was, on one side at least, a stranger to the blood of Thule. Her cheek,-- "O call it fair, not pale!" was so slightly and delicately tinged with the rose, that many thought the lily had an undue proportion in her complexion. But in that predominance of the paler flower, there was nothing sickly or languid; it was the true natural colour of health, and corresponded in a peculiar degree with features, which seemed calculated to express a contemplative and high-minded character. When Minna Troil heard a tale of woe or of injustice, it was then her blood rushed to her cheeks, and showed plainly how warm it beat, notwithstanding the generally serious, composed, and retiring disposition, which her countenance and demeanour seemed to exhibit. If strangers sometimes conceived that these fine features were clouded by melancholy, for which her age and situation could scarce have given occasion, they were soon satisfied, upon further acquaintance, that the placid, mild quietude of her disposition, and the mental energy of a character which was but little interested in ordinary and trivial occurrences, was the real cause of her gravity; and most men, when they knew that her melancholy had no ground in real sorrow, and was only the aspiration of a soul bent on more important objects than those by which she was surrounded, might have wished her whatever could add to her happiness, but could scarce have desired that, graceful as she was in her natural and unaffected seriousness, she should change that deportment for one more gay. In short, notwithstanding our wish to have avoided that hackneyed simile of an angel, we cannot avoid saying there was something in the serious beauty of her aspect, in the measured, yet graceful ease of her motions, in the music of her voice, and the serene purity of her eye, that seemed as if Minna Troil belonged naturally to some higher and better sphere, and was only the chance visitant of a world that was not worthy of her. The scarcely less beautiful, equally lovely, and equally innocent Brenda, was of a complexion as differing from her sister, as they differed in character, taste, and expression. Her profuse locks were of that paly brown which receives from the passing sunbeam a tinge of gold, but darkens again when the ray has passed from it. Her eye, her mouth, the beautiful row of teeth, which in her innocent vivacity were frequently disclosed; the fresh, yet not too bright glow of a healthy complexion, tinging a skin like the drifted snow, spoke her genuine Scandinavian descent. A fairy form, less tall than that of Minna, but still more finely moulded into symmetry--a careless, and almost childish lightness of step--an eye that seemed to look on every object with pleasure, from a natural and serene cheerfulness of disposition, attracted even more general admiration than the charms of her sister, though perhaps that which Minna did excite might be of a more intense as well as more reverential character. The dispositions of these lovely sisters were not less different than their complexions. In the kindly affections, neither could be said to excel the other, so much were they attached to their father and to each other. But the cheerfulness of Brenda mixed itself with the every-day business of life, and seemed inexhaustible in its profusion. The less buoyant spirit of her sister appeared to bring to society a contented wish to be interested and pleased with what was going forward, but was rather placidly carried along with the stream of mirth and pleasure, than disposed to aid its progress by any efforts of her own. She endured mirth, rather than enjoyed it; and the pleasures in which she most delighted, were those of a graver and more solitary cast. The knowledge which is derived from books was beyond her reach. Zetland afforded few opportunities, in those days, of studying the lessons, bequeathed "By dead men to their kind;" and Magnus Troil, such as we have described him, was not a person within whose mansion the means of such knowledge were to be acquired. But the book of nature was before Minna, that noblest of volumes, where we are ever called to wonder and to admire, even when we cannot understand. The plants of those wild regions, the shells on the shores, and the long list of feathered clans which haunt their cliffs and eyries, were as well known to Minna Troil as to the most experienced fowlers. Her powers of observation were wonderful, and little interrupted by other tones of feeling. The information which she acquired by habits of patient attention, was indelibly riveted in a naturally powerful memory. She had also a high feeling for the solitary and melancholy grandeur of the scenes in which she was placed. The ocean, in all its varied forms of sublimity and terror--the tremendous cliffs that resound to the ceaseless roar of the billows, and the clang of the sea-fowl, had for Minna a charm in almost every state in which the changing seasons exhibited them. With the enthusiastic feelings proper to the romantic race from which her mother descended, the love of natural objects was to her a passion capable not only of occupying, but at times of agitating, her mind. Scenes upon which her sister looked with a sense of transient awe or emotion, which vanished on her return from witnessing them, continued long to fill Minna's imagination, not only in solitude, and in the silence of the night, but in the hours of society. So that sometimes when she sat like a beautiful statue, a present member of the domestic circle, her thoughts were far absent, wandering on the wild sea-shore, and among the yet wilder mountains of her native isles. And yet, when recalled to conversation, and mingling in it with interest, there were few to whom her friends were more indebted for enhancing its enjoyments; and although something in her manners claimed deference (notwithstanding her early youth) as well as affection, even her gay, lovely, and amiable sister was not more generally beloved than the more retired and pensive Minna. Indeed, the two lovely sisters were not only the delight of their friends, but the pride of those islands, where the inhabitants of a certain rank were blended, by the remoteness of their situation and the general hospitality of their habits, into one friendly community. A wandering poet and parcel-musician, who, after going through various fortunes, had returned to end his days as he could in his native islands, had celebrated the daughters of Magnus in a poem, which he entitled Night and Day; and in his description of Minna, might almost be thought to have anticipated, though only in a rude outline, the exquisite lines of Lord Byron,-- "She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect, and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies." Their father loved the maidens both so well, that it might be difficult to say which he loved best; saving that, perchance, he liked his graver damsel better in the walk without doors, and his merry maiden better by the fireside; that he more desired the society of Minna when he was sad, and that of Brenda when he was mirthful; and, what was nearly the same thing, preferred Minna before noon, and Brenda after the glass had circulated in the evening. But it was still more extraordinary, that the affections of Mordaunt Mertoun seemed to hover with the same impartiality as those of their father betwixt the two lovely sisters. From his boyhood, as we have noticed, he had been a frequent inmate of the residence of Magnus at Burgh-Westra, although it lay nearly twenty miles distant from Jarlshof. The impassable character of the country betwixt these places, extending over hills covered with loose and quaking bog, and frequently intersected by the creeks or arms of the sea, which indent the island on either side, as well as by fresh-water streams and lakes, rendered the journey difficult, and even dangerous, in the dark season; yet, as soon as the state of his father's mind warned him to absent himself, Mordaunt, at every risk, and under every difficulty, was pretty sure to be found the next day at Burgh-Westra, having achieved his journey in less time than would have been employed perhaps by the most active native. He was of course set down as a wooer of one of the daughters of Magnus, by the public of Zetland; and when the old Udaller's great partiality to the youth was considered, nobody doubted that he might aspire to the hand of either of those distinguished beauties, with as large a share of islets, rocky moorland, and shore-fishings, as might be the fitting portion of a favoured child, and with the presumptive prospect of possessing half the domains of the ancient house of Troil, when their present owner should be no more. This seemed all a reasonable speculation, and, in theory at least, better constructed than many that are current through the world as unquestionable facts. But, alas! all that sharpness of observation which could be applied to the conduct of the parties, failed to determine the main point, to which of the young persons, namely, the attentions of Mordaunt were peculiarly devoted. He seemed, in general, to treat them as an affectionate and attached brother might have treated two sisters, so equally dear to him that a breath would have turned the scale of affection. Or if at any time, which often happened, the one maiden appeared the more especial object of his attention, it seemed only to be because circumstances called her peculiar talents and disposition into more particular and immediate exercise. Both the sisters were accomplished in the simple music of the north, and Mordaunt, who was their assistant, and sometimes their preceptor, when they were practising this delightful art, might be now seen assisting Minna in the acquisition of those wild, solemn, and simple airs, to which scalds and harpers sung of old the deeds of heroes, and presently found equally active in teaching Brenda the more lively and complicated music, which their father's affection caused to be brought from the English or Scottish capital for the use of his daughters. And while conversing with them, Mordaunt, who mingled a strain of deep and ardent enthusiasm with the gay and ungovernable spirits of youth, was equally ready to enter into the wild and poetical visions of Minna, or into the lively and often humorous chat of her gayer sister. In short, so little did he seem to attach himself to either damsel exclusively, that he was sometimes heard to say, that Minna never looked so lovely, as when her lighthearted sister had induced her, for the time, to forget her habitual gravity; or Brenda so interesting, as when she sat listening, a subdued and affected partaker of the deep pathos of her sister Minna. The public of the mainland were, therefore, to use the hunter's phrase, at fault in their farther conclusions, and could but determine, after long vacillating betwixt the maidens, that the young man was positively to marry one of them, but which of the two could only be determined when his approaching manhood, or the interference of stout old Magnus, the father, should teach Master Mordaunt Mertoun to know his own mind. "It was a pretty thing, indeed," they usually concluded, "that he, no native born, and possessed of no visible means of subsistence that is known to any one, should presume to hesitate, or affect to have the power of selection and choice, betwixt the two most distinguished beauties of Zetland. If they were Magnus Troil, they would soon be at the bottom of the matter"--and so forth. All which remarks were only whispered, for the hasty disposition of the Udaller had too much of the old Norse fire about it to render it safe for any one to become an unauthorized intermeddler with his family affairs; and thus stood the relation of Mordaunt Mertoun to the family of Mr. Troil of Burgh-Westra, when the following incidents took place. CHAPTER IV. This is no pilgrim's morning--yon grey mist Lies upon hill, and dale, and field, and forest, Like the dun wimple of a new-made widow; And, by my faith, although my heart be soft, I'd rather hear that widow weep and sigh, And tell the virtues of the dear departed, Than, when the tempest sends his voice abroad, Be subject to its fury. _The Double Nuptials._ The spring was far advanced, when, after a week spent in sport and festivity at Burgh-Westra, Mordaunt Mertoun bade adieu to the family, pleading the necessity of his return to Jarlshof. The proposal was combated by the maidens, and more decidedly by Magnus himself: He saw no occasion whatever for Mordaunt returning to Jarlshof. If his father desired to see him, which, by the way, Magnus did not believe, Mr. Mertoun had only to throw himself into the stern of Sweyn's boat, or betake himself to a pony, if he liked a land journey better, and he would see not only his son, but twenty folk besides, who would be most happy to find that he had not lost the use of his tongue entirely during his long solitude; "although I must own," added the worthy Udaller, "that when he lived among us, nobody ever made less use of it." Mordaunt acquiesced both in what respected his father's taciturnity, and his dislike to general society; but suggested, at the same time, that the first circumstance rendered his own immediate return more necessary, as he was the usual channel of communication betwixt his father and others; and that the second corroborated the same necessity, since Mr. Mertoun's having no other society whatever seemed a weighty reason why his son's should be restored to him without loss of time. As to his father's coming to Burgh-Westra, "they might as well," he said, "expect to see Sumburgh Cape come thither." "And that would be a cumbrous guest," said Magnus. "But you will stop for our dinner to-day? There are the families of Muness, Quendale, Thorslivoe, and I know not who else, are expected; and, besides the thirty that were in house this blessed night, we shall have as many more as chamber and bower, and barn and boat-house, can furnish with beds, or with barley-straw,--and you will leave all this behind you!" "And the blithe dance at night," added Brenda, in a tone betwixt reproach and vexation; "and the young men from the Isle of Paba that are to dance the sword-dance, whom shall we find to match them, for the honour of the Main?" "There is many a merry dancer on the mainland, Brenda," replied Mordaunt, "even if I should never rise on tiptoe again. And where good dancers are found, Brenda Troil will always find the best partner. I must trip it to-night through the Wastes of Dunrossness." "Do not say so, Mordaunt," said Minna, who, during this conversation, had been looking from the window something anxiously; "go not, to-day at least, through the Wastes of Dunrossness." "And why not to-day, Minna," said Mordaunt, laughing, "any more than to-morrow?" "O, the morning mist lies heavy upon yonder chain of isles, nor has it permitted us since daybreak even a single glimpse of Fitful-head, the lofty cape that concludes yon splendid range of mountains. The fowl are winging their way to the shore, and the shelldrake seems, through the mist, as large as the scart.[19] See, the very sheerwaters and bonxies are making to the cliffs for shelter." "And they will ride out a gale against a king's frigate," said her father; "there is foul weather when they cut and run." "Stay, then, with us," said Minna to her friend; "the storm will be dreadful, yet it will be grand to see it from Burgh-Westra, if we have no friend exposed to its fury. See, the air is close and sultry, though the season is yet so early, and the day so calm, that not a windlestraw moves on the heath. Stay with us, Mordaunt; the storm which these signs announce will be a dreadful one." "I must be gone the sooner," was the conclusion of Mordaunt, who could not deny the signs, which had not escaped his own quick observation. "If the storm be too fierce, I will abide for the night at Stourburgh." "What!" said Magnus; "will you leave us for the new chamberlain's new Scotch tacksman, who is to teach all us Zetland savages new ways? Take your own gate, my lad, if that is the song you sing." "Nay," said Mordaunt; "I had only some curiosity to see the new implements he has brought." "Ay, ay, ferlies make fools fain. I would like to know if his new plough will bear against a Zetland rock?" answered Magnus. "I must not pass Stourburgh on the journey," said the youth, deferring to his patron's prejudice against innovation, "if this boding weather bring on tempest; but if it only break in rain, as is most probable, I am not likely to be melted in the wetting." "It will not soften into rain alone," said Minna; "see how much heavier the clouds fall every moment, and see these weather-gaws that streak the lead-coloured mass with partial gleams of faded red and purple." "I see them all," said Mordaunt; "but they only tell me I have no time to tarry here. Adieu, Minna; I will send you the eagle's feathers, if an eagle can be found on Fair-isle or Foulah. And fare thee well, my pretty Brenda, and keep a thought for me, should the Paba men dance ever so well." "Take care of yourself, since go you will," said both sisters, together. Old Magnus scolded them formally for supposing there was any danger to an active young fellow from a spring gale, whether by sea or land; yet ended by giving his own caution also to Mordaunt, advising him seriously to delay his journey, or at least to stop at Stourburgh. "For," said he, "second thoughts are best; and as this Scottishman's howf lies right under your lee, why, take any port in a storm. But do not be assured to find the door on latch, let the storm blow ever so hard; there are such matters as bolts and bars in Scotland,(_e_) though, thanks to Saint Ronald, they are unknown here, save that great lock on the old Castle of Scalloway, that all men run to see--may be they make part of this man's improvements. But go, Mordaunt, since go you will. You should drink a stirrup-cup now, were you three years older, but boys should never drink, excepting after dinner; I will drink it for you, that good customs may not be broken, or bad luck come of it. Here is your bonally, my lad." And so saying, he quaffed a rummer glass of brandy with as much impunity as if it had been spring-water. Thus regretted and cautioned on all hands, Mordaunt took leave of the hospitable household, and looking back at the comforts with which it was surrounded, and the dense smoke that rolled upwards from its chimneys, he first recollected the guestless and solitary desolation of Jarlshof, then compared with the sullen and moody melancholy of his father's temper the warm kindness of those whom he was leaving, and could not refrain from a sigh at the thoughts which forced themselves on his imagination. The signs of the tempest did not dishonour the predictions of Minna. Mordaunt had not advanced three hours on his journey, before the wind, which had been so deadly still in the morning, began at first to wail and sigh, as if bemoaning beforehand the evils which it might perpetrate in its fury, like a madman in the gloomy state of dejection which precedes his fit of violence; then gradually increasing, the gale howled, raged, and roared, with the full fury of a northern storm. It was accompanied by showers of rain mixed with hail, that dashed with the most unrelenting rage against the hills and rocks with which the traveller was surrounded, distracting his attention, in spite of his utmost exertions, and rendering it very difficult for him to keep the direction of his journey in a country where there is neither road, nor even the slightest track to direct the steps of the wanderer, and where he is often interrupted by brooks as well as large pools of water, lakes, and lagoons. All these inland waters were now lashed into sheets of tumbling foam, much of which, carried off by the fury of the whirlwind, was mingled with the gale, and transported far from the waves of which it had lately made a part; while the salt relish of the drift which was pelted against his face, showed Mordaunt that the spray of the more distant ocean, disturbed to frenzy by the storm, was mingled with that of the inland lakes and streams. Amidst this hideous combustion of the elements, Mordaunt Mertoun struggled forward as one to whom such elemental war was familiar, and who regarded the exertions which it required to withstand its fury, but as a mark of resolution and manhood. He felt even, as happens usually to those who endure great hardships, that the exertion necessary to subdue them, is in itself a kind of elevating triumph. To see and distinguish his path when the cattle were driven from the hill, and the very fowls from the firmament, was but the stronger proof of his own superiority. "They shall not hear of me at Burgh-Westra," said he to himself, "as they heard of old doited Ringan Ewenson's boat, that foundered betwixt roadstead and key. I am more of a cragsman than to mind fire or water, wave by sea, or quagmire by land." Thus he struggled on, buffeting with the storm, supplying the want of the usual signs by which travellers directed their progress, (for rock, mountain, and headland, were shrouded in mist and darkness,) by the instinctive sagacity with which long acquaintance with these wilds had taught him to mark every minute object, which could serve in such circumstances to regulate his course. Thus, we repeat, he struggled onward, occasionally standing still, or even lying down, when the gust was most impetuous; making way against it when it was somewhat lulled, by a rapid and bold advance even in its very current; or, when this was impossible, by a movement resembling that of a vessel working to windward by short tacks, but never yielding one inch of the way which he had fought so hard to gain. Yet, notwithstanding Mordaunt's experience and resolution, his situation was sufficiently uncomfortable, and even precarious; not because his sailor's jacket and trowsers, the common dress of young men through these isles when on a journey, were thoroughly wet, for that might have taken place within the same brief time, in any ordinary day, in this watery climate; but the real danger was, that, notwithstanding his utmost exertions, he made very slow way through brooks that were sending their waters all abroad, through morasses drowned in double deluges of moisture, which rendered all the ordinary passes more than usually dangerous, and repeatedly obliged the traveller to perform a considerable circuit, which in the usual case was unnecessary. Thus repeatedly baffled, notwithstanding his youth and strength, Mordaunt, after maintaining a dogged conflict with wind, rain, and the fatigue of a prolonged journey, was truly happy, when, not without having been more than once mistaken in his road, he at length found himself within sight of the house of Stourburgh, or Harfra; for the names were indifferently given to the residence of Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley, who was the chosen missionary of the Chamberlain of Orkney and Zetland, a speculative person, who designed, through the medium of Triptolemus, to introduce into the _Ultima Thule_ of the Romans, a spirit of improvement, which at that early period was scarce known to exist in Scotland itself. At length, and with much difficulty, Mordaunt reached the house of this worthy agriculturist, the only refuge from the relentless storm which he could hope to meet with for several miles; and going straight to the door, with the most undoubting confidence of instant admission, he was not a little surprised to find it not merely latched, which the weather might excuse, but even bolted, a thing which, as Magnus Troil has already intimated, was almost unknown in the Archipelago. To knock, to call, and finally to batter the door with staff and stones, were the natural resources of the youth, who was rendered alike impatient by the pelting of the storm, and by encountering such most unexpected and unusual obstacles to instant admission. As he was suffered, however, for many minutes to exhaust his impatience in noise and clamour, without receiving any reply, we will employ them in informing the reader who Triptolemus Yellowley was, and how he came by a name so singular. Old Jasper Yellowley, the father of Triptolemus, (though born at the foot of Roseberry-Topping,) had been _come over_ by a certain noble Scottish Earl, who, proving too far north for canny Yorkshire, had persuaded him to accept of a farm in the Mearns, where, it is unnecessary to add, he found matters very different from what he had expected. It was in vain that the stout farmer set manfully to work, to counterbalance, by superior skill, the inconveniences arising from a cold soil and a weeping climate. These might have been probably overcome; but his neighbourhood to the Grampians exposed him eternally to that species of visitation from the plaided gentry, who dwelt within their skirts, which made young Norval a warrior and a hero, but only converted Jasper Yellowley into a poor man. This was, indeed, balanced in some sort by the impression which his ruddy cheek and robust form had the fortune to make upon Miss Barbara Clinkscale, daughter to the umquhile, and sister to the then existing, Clinkscale of that ilk. This was thought a horrid and unnatural union in the neighbourhood, considering that the house of Clinkscale had at least as great a share of Scottish pride as of Scottish parsimony, and was amply endowed with both. But Miss Babie had her handsome fortune of two thousand marks at her own disposal, was a woman of spirit who had been _major_ and _sui juris_, (as the writer who drew the contract assured her,) for full twenty years; so she set consequences and commentaries alike at defiance, and wedded the hearty Yorkshire yeoman. Her brother and her more wealthy kinsmen drew off in disgust, and almost disowned their degraded relative. But the house of Clinkscale was allied (like every other family in Scotland at the time) to a set of relations who were not so nice--tenth and sixteenth cousins, who not only acknowledged their kinswoman Babie after her marriage with Yellowley but even condescended to eat beans and bacon (though the latter was then the abomination of the Scotch as much as of the Jews) with her husband, and would willingly have cemented the friendship by borrowing a little cash from him, had not his good lady (who understood trap as well as any woman in the Mearns) put a negative on this advance to intimacy. Indeed she knew how to make young Deilbelicket,(_f_) old Dougald Baresword, the Laird of Bandybrawl, and others, pay for the hospitality which she did not think proper to deny them, by rendering them useful in her negotiations with the lighthanded lads beyond the Cairn, who, finding their late object of plunder was now allied to "kend folks, and owned by them at kirk and market," became satisfied, on a moderate yearly composition, to desist from their depredations. This eminent success reconciled Jasper to the dominion which his wife began to assume over him; and which was much confirmed by her proving to be--let me see--what is the prettiest mode of expressing it?--in the family way. On this occasion, Mrs. Yellowley had a remarkable dream, as is the usual practice of teeming mothers previous to the birth of an illustrious offspring. She "was a-dreamed," as her husband expressed it, that she was safely delivered of a plough, drawn by three yoke of Angus-shire oxen; and being a mighty investigator into such portents, she sat herself down with her gossips, to consider what the thing might mean. Honest Jasper ventured, with much hesitation, to intimate his own opinion, that the vision had reference rather to things past than things future, and might have been occasioned by his wife's nerves having been a little startled by meeting in the loan above the house his own great plough with the six oxen, which were the pride of his heart. But the good _cummers_[20] raised such a hue and cry against this exposition, that Jasper was fain to put his fingers in his ears, and to run out of the apartment. "Hear to him," said an old whigamore carline--"hear to him, wi' his owsen, that are as an idol to him, even as the calf of Bethel! Na, na--it's nae pleugh of the flesh that the bonny lad-bairn--for a lad it sall be--sall e'er striddle between the stilts o'--it's the pleugh of the spirit--and I trust mysell to see him wag the head o' him in a pu'pit; or, what's better, on a hill-side." "Now the deil's in your whiggery," said the old Lady Glenprosing; "wad ye hae our cummer's bonny lad-bairn wag the head aff his shouthers like your godly Mess James Guthrie,(_g_) that ye hald such a clavering about?--Na, na, he sall walk a mair siccar path, and be a dainty curate--and say he should live to be a bishop, what the waur wad he be?" The gauntlet thus fairly flung down by one sibyl, was caught up by another, and the controversy between presbytery and episcopacy raged, roared, or rather screamed, a round of cinnamon-water serving only like oil to the flame, till Jasper entered with the plough-staff; and by the awe of his presence, and the shame of misbehaving "before the stranger man," imposed some conditions of silence upon the disputants. I do not know whether it was impatience to give to the light a being destined to such high and doubtful fates, or whether poor Dame Yellowley was rather frightened at the hurly-burly which had taken place in her presence, but she was taken suddenly ill; and, contrary to the formula in such cases used and provided, was soon reported to be "a good deal worse than was to be expected." She took the opportunity (having still all her wits about her) to extract from her sympathetic husband two promises; first, that he would christen the child, whose birth was like to cost her so dear, by a name indicative of the vision with which she had been favoured; and next, that he would educate him for the ministry. The canny Yorkshireman, thinking she had a good title at present to dictate in such matters, subscribed to all she required. A man-child was accordingly born under these conditions, but the state of the mother did not permit her for many days to enquire how far they had been complied with. When she was in some degree convalescent, she was informed, that as it was thought fit the child should be immediately christened, it had received the name of Triptolemus; the Curate, who was a man of some classical skill, conceiving that this epithet contained a handsome and classical allusion to the visionary plough, with its triple yoke of oxen. Mrs. Yellowley was not much delighted with the manner in which her request had been complied with; but grumbling being to as little purpose as in the celebrated case of Tristram Shandy, she e'en sat down contented with the heathenish name, and endeavoured to counteract the effects it might produce upon the taste and feelings of the nominee, by such an education as might put him above the slightest thought of sacks, coulters, stilts, mould-boards, or any thing connected with the servile drudgery of the plough. Jasper, sage Yorkshireman, smiled slyly in his sleeve, conceiving that young Trippie was likely to prove a chip of the old block, and would rather take after the jolly Yorkshire yeoman, than the gentle but somewhat _aigre_ blood of the house of Clinkscale. He remarked, with suppressed glee, that the tune which best answered the purpose of a lullaby was the "Ploughman's Whistle," and the first words the infant learned to stammer were the names of the oxen; moreover, that the "bern" preferred home-brewed ale to Scotch twopenny, and never quitted hold of the tankard with so much reluctance as when there had been, by some manoeuvre of Jasper's own device, a double straik of malt allowed to the brewing, above that which was sanctioned by the most liberal recipe, of which his dame's household thrift admitted. Besides this, when no other means could be fallen upon to divert an occasional fit of squalling, his father observed that Trip could be always silenced by jingling a bridle at his ear. From all which symptoms he used to swear in private, that the boy would prove true Yorkshire, and mother and mother's kin would have small share of him. Meanwhile, and within a year after the birth of Triptolemus, Mrs. Yellowley bore a daughter, named after herself Barbara, who, even in earliest infancy, exhibited the pinched nose and thin lips by which the Clinkscale family were distinguished amongst the inhabitants of the Mearns; and as her childhood advanced, the readiness with which she seized, and the tenacity wherewith she detained, the playthings of Triptolemus, besides a desire to bite, pinch, and scratch, on slight, or no provocation, were all considered by attentive observers as proofs, that Miss Babie would prove "her mother over again." Malicious people did not stick to say, that the acrimony of the Clinkscale blood had not, on this occasion, been cooled and sweetened by that of Old England; that young Deilbelicket was much about the house, and they could not but think it odd that Mrs. Yellowley, who, as the whole world knew, gave nothing for nothing, should be so uncommonly attentive to heap the trencher, and to fill the caup, of an idle blackguard ne'er-do-weel. But when folk had once looked upon the austere and awfully virtuous countenance of Mrs. Yellowley, they did full justice to her propriety of conduct, and Deilbelicket's delicacy of taste. Meantime young Triptolemus, having received such instructions as the Curate could give him, (for though Dame Yellowley adhered to the persecuted remnant, her jolly husband, edified by the black gown and prayer-book, still conformed to the church as by law established,) was, in due process of time, sent to Saint Andrews to prosecute his studies. He went, it is true; but with an eye turned back with sad remembrances on his father's plough, his father's pancakes, and his father's ale, for which the small-beer of the college, commonly there termed "thorough-go-nimble," furnished a poor substitute. Yet he advanced in his learning, being found, however, to show a particular favour to such authors of antiquity as had made the improvement of the soil the object of their researches. He endured the Bucolics of Virgil--the Georgics he had by heart--but the Æneid he could not away with; and he was particularly severe upon the celebrated line expressing a charge of cavalry, because, as he understood the word _putrem_,[21] he opined that the combatants, in their inconsiderate ardour, galloped over a new-manured ploughed field. Cato, the Roman Censor was his favourite among classical heroes and philosophers, not on account of the strictness of his morals, but because of his treatise, _de Re Rustica_. He had ever in his mouth the phrase of Cicero, _Jam neminem antepones Catoni_. He thought well of Palladius, and of Terentius Varro, but Columella was his pocket-companion. To these ancient worthies, he added the more modern Tusser, Hartlib, and other writers on rural economics, not forgetting the lucubrations of the Shepherd of Salisbury Plain, and such of the better-informed Philomaths, who, instead of loading their almanacks with vain predictions of political events, pretended to see what seeds would grow and what would not, and direct the attention of their readers to that course of cultivation from which the production of good crops may be safely predicted; modest sages, in fine, who, careless of the rise and downfall of empires, content themselves with pointing out the fit seasons to reap and sow, with a fair guess at the weather which each month will be likely to present; as, for example, that if Heaven pleases, we shall have snow in January, and the author will stake his reputation that July proves, on the whole, a month of sunshine. Now, although the Rector of Saint Leonard's was greatly pleased, in general, with the quiet, laborious, and studious bent of Triptolemus Yellowley, and deemed him, in so far, worthy of a name of four syllables having a Latin termination, yet he relished not, by any means, his exclusive attention to his favourite authors. It savoured of the earth, he said, if not of something worse, to have a man's mind always grovelling in mould, stercorated or unstercorated; and he pointed out, but in vain, history, and poetry, and divinity, as more elevating subjects of occupation. Triptolemus Yellowley was obstinate in his own course: Of the battle of Pharsalia, he thought not as it affected the freedom of the world, but dwelt on the rich crop which the Emathian fields were likely to produce the next season. In vernacular poetry, Triptolemus could scarce be prevailed upon to read a single couplet, excepting old Tusser, as aforesaid, whose Hundred Points of Good Husbandry he had got by heart; and excepting also Piers Ploughman's Vision, which, charmed with the title, he bought with avidity from a packman, but after reading the two first pages, flung it into the fire as an impudent and misnamed political libel. As to divinity, he summed that matter up by reminding his instructors, that to labour the earth and win his bread with the toil of his body and sweat of his brow, was the lot imposed upon fallen man; and, for his part, he was resolved to discharge, to the best of his abilities, a task so obviously necessary to existence, leaving others to speculate as much as they would, upon the more recondite mysteries of theology. With a spirit so much narrowed and limited to the concerns of rural life, it may be doubted whether the proficiency of Triptolemus in learning, or the use he was like to make of his acquisitions, would have much gratified the ambitious hope of his affectionate mother. It is true, he expressed no reluctance to embrace the profession of a clergyman, which suited well enough with the habitual personal indolence which sometimes attaches to speculative dispositions. He had views, to speak plainly, (I wish they were peculiar to himself,) of cultivating the _glebe_ six days in the week, preaching on the seventh with due regularity, and dining with some fat franklin or country laird, with whom he could smoke a pipe and drink a tankard after dinner, and mix in secret conference on the exhaustless subject, Quid faciat lætas segetes. Now, this plan, besides that it indicated nothing of what was then called the root of the matter, implied necessarily the possession of a manse; and the possession of a manse inferred compliance with the doctrines of prelacy, and other enormities of the time. There was some question how far manse and glebe, stipend, both victual and money, might have outbalanced the good lady's predisposition towards Presbytery; but her zeal was not put to so severe a trial. She died before her son had completed his studies, leaving her afflicted spouse just as disconsolate as was to be expected. The first act of old Jasper's undivided administration was to recall his son from Saint Andrews, in order to obtain his assistance in his domestic labours. And here it might have been supposed that our Triptolemus, summoned to carry into practice what he had so fondly studied in theory, must have been, to use a simile which _he_ would have thought lively, like a cow entering upon a clover park. Alas, mistaken thoughts, and deceitful hopes of mankind! A laughing philosopher, the Democritus of our day, once, in a moral lecture, compared human life to a table pierced with a number of holes, each of which has a pin made exactly to fit it, but which pins being stuck in hastily, and without selection, chance leads inevitably to the most awkward mistakes. "For how often do we see," the orator pathetically concluded,--"how often, I say, do we see the round man stuck into the three-cornered hole!" This new illustration of the vagaries of fortune set every one present into convulsions of laughter, excepting one fat alderman, who seemed to make the case his own, and insisted that it was no jesting matter. To take up the simile, however, which is an excellent one, it is plain that Triptolemus Yellowley had been shaken out of the bag at least a hundred years too soon. If he had come on the stage in our own time, that is, if he had flourished at any time within these thirty or forty years, he could not have missed to have held the office of vice-president of some eminent agricultural society, and to have transacted all the business thereof under the auspices of some noble duke or lord, who, as the matter might happen, either knew, or did not know, the difference betwixt a horse and a cart, and a cart-horse. He could not have missed such preferment, for he was exceedingly learned in all those particulars, which, being of no consequence in actual practice, go, of course, a great way to constitute the character of a connoisseur in any art, and especially in agriculture. But, alas! Triptolemus Yellowley had, as we already have hinted, come into the world at least a century too soon; for, instead of sitting in an arm-chair, with a hammer in his hand, and a bumper of port before him, giving forth the toast,--"To breeding, in all its branches," his father planted him betwixt the stilts of a plough, and invited him to guide the oxen, on whose beauties he would, in our day, have descanted, and whose rumps he would not have goaded, but have carved. Old Jasper complained, that although no one talked so well of common and several, wheat and rape, fallow and lea, as his learned son, (whom he always called Tolimus,) yet, "dang it," added the Seneca, "nought thrives wi' un--nought thrives wi' un!" It was still worse, when Jasper, becoming frail and ancient, was obliged, as happened in the course of a few years, gradually to yield up the reins of government to the academical neophyte. As if Nature had meant him a spite, he had got one of the _dourest_ and most intractable farms in the Mearns, to try conclusions withal, a place which seemed to yield every thing but what the agriculturist wanted; for there were plenty of thistles, which indicates dry land; and store of fern, which is said to intimate deep land; and nettles, which show where lime hath been applied; and deep furrows in the most unlikely spots, which intimated that it had been cultivated in former days by the Peghts, as popular tradition bore. There was also enough of stones to keep the ground warm, according to the creed of some farmers, and great abundance of springs to render it cool and sappy, according to the theory of others. It was in vain that, acting alternately on these opinions, poor Triptolemus endeavoured to avail himself of the supposed capabilities of the soil. No kind of butter that might be churned could be made to stick upon his own bread, any more than on that of poor Tusser, whose Hundred Points of Good Husbandry, so useful to others of his day, were never to himself worth as many pennies.[22] In fact, excepting an hundred acres of infield, to which old Jasper had early seen the necessity of limiting his labours, there was not a corner of the farm fit for any thing but to break plough-graith, and kill cattle. And then, as for the part which was really tilled with some profit, the expense of the farming establishment of Triptolemus, and his disposition to experiment, soon got rid of any good arising from the cultivation of it. "The carles and the cart-avers," he confessed, with a sigh, speaking of his farm-servants and horses, "make it all, and the carles and cart-avers eat it all;" a conclusion which might sum up the year-book of many a gentleman farmer. Matters would have soon been brought to a close with Triptolemus in the present day. He would have got a bank-credit, manoeuvred with wind-bills, dashed out upon a large scale, and soon have seen his crop and stock sequestered by the Sheriff; but in those days a man could not ruin himself so easily. The whole Scottish tenantry stood upon the same level flat of poverty, so that it was extremely difficult to find any vantage ground, by climbing up to which a man might have an opportunity of actually breaking his neck with some eclat. They were pretty much in the situation of people, who, being totally without credit, may indeed suffer from indigence, but cannot possibly become bankrupt. Besides, notwithstanding the failure of Triptolemus's projects, there was to be balanced against the expenditure which they occasioned, all the savings which the extreme economy of his sister Barbara could effect; and in truth her exertions were wonderful. She might have realized, if any one could, the idea of the learned philosopher, who pronounced that sleeping was a fancy, and eating but a habit, and who appeared to the world to have renounced both, until it was unhappily discovered that he had an intrigue with the cook-maid of the family, who indemnified him for his privations by giving him private entrée to the pantry, and to a share of her own couch. But no such deceptions were practised by Barbara Yellowley. She was up early, and down late, and seemed, to her over-watched and over-tasked maidens, to be as _wakerife_ as the cat herself. Then, for eating, it appeared that the air was a banquet to her, and she would fain have made it so to her retinue. Her brother, who, besides being lazy in his person, was somewhat luxurious in his appetite, would willingly now and then have tasted a mouthful of animal food, were it but to know how his sheep were fed off; but a proposal to eat a child could not have startled Mistress Barbara more; and, being of a compliant and easy disposition, Triptolemus reconciled himself to the necessity of a perpetual Lent, too happy when he could get a scrap of butter to his oaten cake, or (as they lived on the banks of the Esk) escape the daily necessity of eating salmon, whether in or out of season, six days out of the seven. But although Mrs. Barbara brought faithfully to the joint stock all savings which her awful powers of economy accomplished to scrape together, and although the dower of their mother was by degrees expended, or nearly so, in aiding them upon extreme occasions, the term at length approached when it seemed impossible that they could sustain the conflict any longer against the evil star of Triptolemus, as he called it himself, or the natural result of his absurd speculations, as it was termed by others. Luckily at this sad crisis, a god jumped down to their relief out of a machine. In plain English, the noble lord, who owned their farm, arrived at his mansion-house in their neighbourhood, with his coach and six and his running footmen, in the full splendour of the seventeenth century. This person of quality was the son of the nobleman who had brought the ancient Jasper into the country from Yorkshire, and he was, like his father, a fanciful and scheming man.[23] He had schemed well for himself, however, amid the mutations of the time, having obtained, for a certain period of years, the administration of the remote islands of Orkney and Zetland, for payment of a certain rent, with the right of making the most of whatever was the property or revenue of the crown in these districts, under the title of Lord Chamberlain. Now, his lordship had become possessed with a notion, in itself a very true one, that much might be done to render this grant available, by improving the culture of the crown lands, both in Orkney and Zetland; and then having some acquaintance with our friend Triptolemus, he thought (rather less happily) that he might prove a person capable of furthering his schemes. He sent for him to the great Hallhouse, and was so much edified by the way in which our friend laid down the law upon every given subject relating to rural economy, that he lost no time in securing the co-operation of so valuable an assistant, the first step being to release him from his present unprofitable farm. The terms were arranged much to the mind of Triptolemus, who had already been taught, by many years' experience, a dark sort of notion, that without undervaluing or doubting for a moment his own skill, it would be quite as well that almost all the trouble and risk should be at the expense of his employer. Indeed, the hopes of advantage which he held out to his patron were so considerable, that the Lord Chamberlain dropped every idea of admitting his dependent into any share of the expected profits; for, rude as the arts of agriculture were in Scotland, they were far superior to those known and practised in the regions of Thule, and Triptolemus Yellowley conceived himself to be possessed of a degree of insight into these mysteries, far superior to what was possessed or practised even in the Mearns. The improvement, therefore, which was to be expected, would bear a double proportion, and the Lord Chamberlain was to reap all the profit, deducting a handsome salary for his steward Yellowley, together with the accommodation of a house and domestic farm, for the support of his family. Joy seized the heart of Mistress Barbara, at hearing this happy termination of what threatened to be so very bad an affair as the lease of Cauldacres. "If we cannot," she said, "provide for our own house, when all is coming in, and nothing going out, surely we must be worse than infidels!" Triptolemus was a busy man for some time, huffing and puffing, and eating and drinking in every changehouse, while he ordered and collected together proper implements of agriculture, to be used by the natives of these devoted islands, whose destinies were menaced with this formidable change. Singular tools these would seem, if presented before a modern agricultural society; but every thing is relative, nor could the heavy cartload of timber, called the old Scots plough, seem less strange to a Scottish farmer of this present day, than the corslets and casques of the soldiers of Cortes might seem to a regiment of our own army. Yet the latter conquered Mexico, and undoubtedly the former would have been a splendid improvement on the state of agriculture in Thule. We have never been able to learn why Triptolemus preferred fixing his residence in Zetland, to becoming an inhabitant of the Orkneys. Perhaps he thought the inhabitants of the latter Archipelago the more simple and docile of the two kindred tribes; or perhaps he considered the situation of the house and farm he himself was to occupy, (which was indeed a tolerable one,) as preferable to that which he had it in his power to have obtained upon Pomona (so the main island of the Orkneys is entitled). At Harfra, or, as it was sometimes called, Stourburgh, from the remains of a Pictish fort, which was almost close to the mansion-house, the factor settled himself, in the plenitude of his authority; determined to honour the name he bore by his exertions, in precept and example, to civilize the Zetlanders, and improve their very confined knowledge in the primary arts of human life. FOOTNOTES: [19] The cormorant; which may be seen frequently dashing in wild flight along the roosts and tides of Zetland, and yet more often drawn up in ranks on some ledge of rock, like a body of the Black Brunswickers in 181. [20] _i. e._ Gossips. [21] Quadrupedumque putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum. [22] This is admitted by the English agriculturist:-- "My music since has been the plough, Entangled with some care among; The gain not great, the pain enough, Hath made me sing another song." [23] GOVERNMENT OF ZETLAND.--At the period supposed, the Earls of Morton held the islands of Orkney and Zetland, originally granted in 1643, confirmed in 1707, and rendered absolute in 1742. This gave the family much property and influence, which they usually exercised by factors, named chamberlains. In 1766 this property was sold by the then Earl of Morton to Sir Lawrence Dundas, by whose son, Lord Dundas, it is now held. CHAPTER V. The wind blew keen frae north and east; It blew upon the floor. Quo' our goodman to our goodwife, "Get up and bar the door." "My hand is in my housewife-skep, Goodman, as ye may see; If it shouldna be barr'd this hundred years, It's no be barr'd for me!" _Old Song._ We can only hope that the gentle reader has not found the latter part of the last chapter extremely tedious; but, at any rate, his impatience will scarce equal that of young Mordaunt Mertoun, who, while the lightning came flash after flash, while the wind, veering and shifting from point to point, blew with all the fury of a hurricane, and while the rain was dashed against him in deluges, stood hammering, calling, and roaring at the door of the old Place of Harfra, impatient for admittance, and at a loss to conceive any position of existing circumstances, which could occasion the exclusion of a stranger, especially during such horrible weather. At length, finding his noise and vociferation were equally in vain, he fell back so far from the front of the house, as was necessary to enable him to reconnoitre the chimneys; and amidst "storm and shade," could discover, to the increase of his dismay, that though noon, then the dinner hour of these islands, was now nearly arrived, there was no smoke proceeding from the tunnels of the vents to give any note of preparation within. Mordaunt's wrathful impatience was now changed into sympathy and alarm; for, so long accustomed to the exuberant hospitality of the Zetland islands, he was immediately induced to suppose some strange and unaccountable disaster had befallen the family; and forthwith set himself to discover some place at which he could make forcible entry, in order to ascertain the situation of the inmates, as much as to obtain shelter from the still increasing storm. His present anxiety was, however, as much thrown away as his late clamorous importunities for admittance had been. Triptolemus and his sister had heard the whole alarm without, and had already had a sharp dispute on the propriety of opening the door. Mrs. Baby, as we have described her, was no willing renderer of the rites of hospitality. In their farm of Cauldacres, in the Mearns, she had been the dread and abhorrence of all gaberlunzie men, and travelling packmen, gipsies, long remembered beggars, and so forth; nor was there one of them so wily, as she used to boast, as could ever say they had heard the clink of her sneck. In Zetland, where the new settlers were yet strangers to the extreme honesty and simplicity of all classes, suspicion and fear joined with frugality in her desire to exclude all wandering guests of uncertain character; and the second of these motives had its effect on Triptolemus himself, who, though neither suspicious nor penurious, knew good people were scarce, good farmers scarcer, and had a reasonable share of that wisdom which looks towards self-preservation as the first law of nature. These hints may serve as a commentary on the following dialogue which took place betwixt the brother and sister. "Now, good be gracious to us," said Triptolemus, as he sat thumbing his old school-copy of Virgil, "here is a pure day, for the bear seed!--Well spoke the wise Mantuan--_ventis surgentibus_--and then the groans of the mountains, and the long-resounding shores--but where's the woods, Baby? tell me, I say, where we shall find the _nemorum murmur_, sister Baby, in these new seats of ours?" "What's your foolish will?" said Baby, popping her head from out of a dark recess in the kitchen, where she was busy about some nameless deed of housewifery. Her brother, who had addressed himself to her more from habit than intention, no sooner saw her bleak red nose, keen grey eyes, with the sharp features thereunto conforming, shaded by the flaps of the loose _toy_ which depended on each side of her eager face, than he bethought himself that his query was likely to find little acceptation from her, and therefore stood another volley before he would resume the topic. "I say, Mr. Yellowley," said sister Baby, coming into the middle of the room, "what for are ye crying on me, and me in the midst of my housewifeskep?" "Nay, for nothing at all, Baby," answered Triptolemus, "saving that I was saying to myself, that here we had the sea, and the wind, and the rain, sufficient enough, but where's the wood? where's the wood, Baby, answer me that?" "The wood?" replied Baby--"Were I no to take better care of the wood than you, brother, there would soon be no more wood about the town than the barber's block that's on your own shoulders, Triptolemus. If ye be thinking of the wreck-wood that the callants brought in yesterday, there was six ounces of it gaed to boil your parritch this morning; though, I trow, a carefu' man wad have ta'en drammock, if breakfast he behoved to have, rather than waste baith meltith and fuel in the same morning." "That is to say, Baby," replied Triptolemus, who was somewhat of a dry joker in his way, "that when we have fire we are not to have food, and when we have food we are not to have fire, these being too great blessings to enjoy both in the same day! Good luck, you do not propose we should starve with cold and starve with hunger _unico contextu_. But, to tell you the truth, I could never away with raw oatmeal, slockened with water, in all my life. Call it drammock, or crowdie, or just what ye list, my vivers must thole fire and water." "The mair gowk you," said Baby; "can ye not make your brose on the Sunday, and sup them cauld on the Monday, since ye're sae dainty? Mony is the fairer face than yours that has licked the lip after such a cogfu'." "Mercy on us, sister!" said Triptolemus; "at this rate, it's a finished field with me--I must unyoke the pleugh, and lie down to wait for the dead-thraw. Here is that in this house wad hold all Zetland in meal for a twelvemonth, and ye grudge a cogfu' of warm parritch to me, that has sic a charge!" "Whisht--haud your silly clavering tongue!" said Baby, looking round with apprehension--"ye are a wise man to speak of what is in the house, and a fitting man to have the charge of it!--Hark, as I live by bread, I hear a tapping at the outer yett!" "Go and open it then, Baby," said her brother, glad at any thing that promised to interrupt the dispute. "Go and open it, said he!" echoed Baby, half angry, half frightened, and half triumphant at the superiority of her understanding over that of her brother--"Go and open it, said he, indeed!--is it to lend robbers a chance to take all that is in the house?" "Robbers!" echoed Triptolemus, in his turn; "there are no more robbers in this country than there are lambs at Yule. I tell you, as I have told you an hundred times, there are no Highlandmen to harry us here. This is a land of quiet and honesty. _O fortunati nimium!_" "And what good is Saint Rinian to do ye, Tolimus?" said his sister, mistaking the quotation for a Catholic invocation. "Besides, if there be no Highlandmen, there may be as bad. I saw sax or seven as ill-looking chields gang past the Place yesterday, as ever came frae beyont Clochna-ben; ill-fa'red tools they had in their hands, whaaling knives they ca'ed them, but they looked as like dirks and whingers as ae bit airn can look like anither. There is nae honest men carry siccan tools." Here the knocking and shouts of Mordaunt were very audible betwixt every swell of the horrible blast which was careering without. The brother and sister looked at each other in real perplexity and fear. "If they have heard of the siller," said Baby, her very nose changing with terror from red to blue, "we are but gane folk!" "Who speaks now, when they should hold their tongue?" said Triptolemus. "Go to the shot-window instantly, and see how many there are of them, while I load the old Spanish-barrelled duck-gun--go as if you were stepping on new-laid eggs." Baby crept to the window, and reported that she saw only "one young chield, clattering and roaring as gin he were daft. How many there might be out of sight, she could not say." "Out of sight!--nonsense," said Triptolemus, laying aside the ramrod with which he was loading the piece, with a trembling hand. "I will warrant them out of sight and hearing both--this is some poor fellow catched in the tempest, wants the shelter of our roof, and a little refreshment. Open the door, Baby, it's a Christian deed." "But is it a Christian deed of him to come in at the window, then?" said Baby, setting up a most doleful shriek, as Mordaunt Mertoun, who had forced open one of the windows, leaped down into the apartment, dripping with water like a river god. Triptolemus, in great tribulation, presented the gun which he had not yet loaded, while the intruder exclaimed, "Hold, hold--what the devil mean you by keeping your doors bolted in weather like this, and levelling your gun at folk's heads as you would at a sealgh's?" "And who are you, friend, and what want you?" said Triptolemus, lowering the but of his gun to the floor as he spoke, and so recovering his arms. "What do I want!" said Mordaunt; "I want every thing--I want meat, drink, and fire, a bed for the night, and a sheltie for to-morrow morning to carry me to Jarlshof." "And ye said there were nae caterans or sorners here?" said Baby to the agriculturist, reproachfully. "Heard ye ever a breekless loon frae Lochaber tell his mind and his errand mair deftly?--Come, come, friend," she added, addressing herself to Mordaunt, "put up your pipes and gang your gate; this is the house of his lordship's factor, and no place of reset for thiggers or sorners." Mordaunt laughed in her face at the simplicity of the request. "Leave built walls," he said, "and in such a tempest as this? What take you me for?--a gannet or a scart do you think I am, that your clapping your hands and skirling at me like a madwoman, should drive me from the shelter into the storm?" "And so you propose, young man," said Triptolemus, gravely, "to stay in my house, _volens nolens_--that is, whether we will or no?" "Will!" said Mordaunt; "what right have you to will any thing about it? Do you not hear the thunder? Do you not hear the rain? Do you not see the lightning? And do you not know this is the only house within I wot not how many miles? Come, my good master and dame, this may be Scottish jesting, but it sounds strange in Zetland ears. You have let out the fire, too, and my teeth are dancing a jig in my head with cold; but I'll soon put that to rights." He seized the fire-tongs, raked together the embers upon the hearth, broke up into life the gathering-peat, which the hostess had calculated should have preserved the seeds of fire, without giving them forth, for many hours; then casting his eye round, saw in a corner the stock of drift-wood, which Mistress Baby had served forth by ounces, and transferred two or three logs of it at once to the hearth, which, conscious of such unwonted supply, began to transmit to the chimney such a smoke as had not issued from the Place of Harfra for many a day. While their uninvited guest was thus making himself at home, Baby kept edging and jogging the factor to turn out the intruder. But for this undertaking, Triptolemus Yellowley felt neither courage nor zeal, nor did circumstances seem at all to warrant the favourable conclusion of any fray into which he might enter with the young stranger. The sinewy limbs and graceful form of Mordaunt Mertoun were seen to great advantage in his simple sea-dress; and with his dark sparkling eye, finely formed head, animated features, close curled dark hair, and bold, free looks, the stranger formed a very strong contrast with the host on whom he had intruded himself. Triptolemus was a short, clumsy, duck-legged disciple of Ceres, whose bottle-nose, turned up and handsomely coppered at the extremity, seemed to intimate something of an occasional treaty with Bacchus. It was like to be no equal mellay betwixt persons of such unequal form and strength; and the difference betwixt twenty and fifty years was nothing in favour of the weaker party. Besides, the factor was an honest good-natured fellow at bottom, and being soon satisfied that his guest had no other views than those of obtaining refuge from the storm, it would, despite his sister's instigations, have been his last act to deny a boon so reasonable and necessary to a youth whose exterior was so prepossessing. He stood, therefore, considering how he could most gracefully glide into the character of the hospitable landlord, out of that of the churlish defender of his domestic castle, against an unauthorized intrusion, when Baby, who had stood appalled at the extreme familiarity of the stranger's address and demeanour, now spoke up for herself. "My troth, lad," said she to Mordaunt, "ye are no blate, to light on at that rate, and the best of wood, too--nane of your sharney peats, but good aik timber, nae less maun serve ye!" "You come lightly by it, dame," said Mordaunt, carelessly; "and you should not grudge to the fire what the sea gives you for nothing. These good ribs of oak did their last duty upon earth and ocean, when they could hold no longer together under the brave hearts that manned the bark." "And that's true, too," said the old woman, softening--"this maun be awsome weather by sea. Sit down and warm ye, since the sticks are a-low." "Ay, ay," said Triptolemus, "it is a pleasure to see siccan a bonny bleeze. I havena seen the like o't since I left Cauldacres." "And shallna see the like o't again in a hurry," said Baby, "unless the house take fire, or there suld be a coal-heugh found out." "And wherefore should not there be a coal-heugh found out?" said the factor, triumphantly--"I say, wherefore should not a coal-heugh be found out in Zetland as well as in Fife, now that the Chamberlain has a far-sighted and discreet man upon the spot to make the necessary perquisitions? They are baith fishing-stations, I trow?" "I tell you what it is, Tolemus Yellowley," answered his sister, who had practical reasons to fear her brother's opening upon any false scent, "if you promise my Lord sae mony of these bonnie-wallies, we'll no be weel hafted here before we are found out and set a-trotting again. If ane was to speak to ye about a gold mine, I ken weel wha would promise he suld have Portugal pieces clinking in his pouch before the year gaed by." "And why suld I not?" said Triptolemus--"maybe your head does not know there is a land in Orkney called Ophir, or something very like it; and wherefore might not Solomon, the wise King of the Jews, have sent thither his ships and his servants for four hundred and fifty talents? I trow he knew best where to go or send, and I hope you believe in your Bible, Baby?" Baby was silenced by an appeal to Scripture, however _mal à propos_, and only answered by an inarticulate _humph_ of incredulity or scorn, while her brother went on addressing Mordaunt.--"Yes, you shall all of you see what a change shall coin introduce, even into such an unpropitious country as yours. Ye have not heard of copper, I warrant, nor of iron-stone, in these islands, neither?" Mordaunt said he had heard there was copper near the Cliffs of Konigsburgh. "Ay, and a copper scum is found on the Loch of Swana, too, young man. But the youngest of you, doubtless, thinks himself a match for such as I am!" Baby, who during all this while had been closely and accurately reconnoitring the youth's person, now interposed in a manner by her brother totally unexpected. "Ye had mair need, Mr. Yellowley, to give the young man some dry clothes, and to see about getting something for him to eat, than to sit there bleezing away with your lang tales, as if the weather were not windy enow without your help; and maybe the lad would drink some _bland_, or sic-like, if ye had the grace to ask him." While Triptolemus looked astonished at such a proposal, considering the quarter it came from, Mordaunt answered, he "should be very glad to have dry clothes, but begged to be excused from drinking until he had eaten somewhat." Triptolemus accordingly conducted him into another apartment, and accommodating him with a change of dress, left him to his arrangements, while he himself returned to the kitchen, much puzzled to account for his sister's unusual fit of hospitality. "She must be _fey_,"[24] he said, "and in that case has not long to live, and though I fall heir to her tocher-good, I am sorry for it; for she has held the house-gear well together--drawn the girth over tight it may be now and then, but the saddle sits the better." When Triptolemus returned to the kitchen, he found his suspicions confirmed; for his sister was in the desperate act of consigning to the pot a smoked goose, which, with others of the same tribe, had long hung in the large chimney, muttering to herself at the same time,--"It maun be eaten sune or syne, and what for no by the puir callant?" "What is this of it, sister?" said Triptolemus. "You have on the girdle and the pot at ance. What day is this wi' you?" "E'en such a day as the Israelites had beside the flesh-pots of Egypt, billie Triptolemus; but ye little ken wha ye have in your house this blessed day." "Troth, and little do I ken," said Triptolemus, "as little as I would ken the naig I never saw before. I would take the lad for a jagger,[25] but he has rather ower good havings, and he has no pack." "Ye ken as little as ane of your ain bits o' nowt, man," retorted sister Baby; "if ye ken na him, do ye ken Tronda Dronsdaughter?" "Tronda Dronsdaughter!" echoed Triptolemus--"how should I but ken her, when I pay her twal pennies Scots by the day, for working in the house here? I trow she works as if the things burned her fingers. I had better give a Scots lass a groat of English siller." "And that's the maist sensible word ye have said this blessed morning.--Weel, but Tronda kens this lad weel, and she has often spoke to me about him. They call his father the Silent Man of Sumburgh, and they say he's uncanny." "Hout, hout--nonsense, nonsense--they are aye at sic trash as that," said the brother, "when you want a day's wark out of them--they have stepped ower the tangs, or they have met an uncanny body, or they have turned about the boat against the sun, and then there's nought to be done that day." "Weel, weel, brother, ye are so wise," said Baby, "because ye knapped Latin at Saint Andrews; and can your lair tell me, then, what the lad has round his halse?" "A Barcelona napkin, as wet as a dishclout, and I have just lent him one of my own overlays," said Triptolemus. "A Barcelona napkin!" said Baby, elevating her voice, and then suddenly lowering it, as from apprehension of being overheard--"I say a gold chain!" "A gold chain!" said Triptolemus. "In troth is it, hinny; and how like you that? The folk say here, as Tronda tells me, that the King of the Drows gave it to his father, the Silent Man of Sumburgh." "I wish you would speak sense, or be the silent woman," said Triptolemus. "The upshot of it all is, then, that this lad is the rich stranger's son, and that you are giving him the goose you were to keep till Michaelmas!" "Troth, brother, we maun do something for God's sake, and to make friends; and the lad," added Baby, (for even she was not altogether above the prejudices of her sex in favour of outward form,) "the lad has a fair face of his ain." "Ye would have let mony a fair face," said Triptolemus, "pass the door pining, if it had not been for the gold chain." "Nae doubt, nae doubt," replied Barbara; "ye wadna have me waste our substance on every thigger or sorner that has the luck to come by the door in a wet day? But this lad has a fair and a wide name in the country, and Tronda says he is to be married to a daughter of the rich Udaller, Magnus Troil, and the marriage-day is to be fixed whenever he makes choice (set him up) between the twa lasses; and so it wad be as much as our good name is worth, and our quiet forby, to let him sit unserved, although he does come unsent for." "The best reason in life," said Triptolemus, "for letting a man into a house is, that you dare not bid him go by. However, since there is a man of quality amongst them, I will let him know whom he has to do with, in my person." Then advancing to the door, he exclaimed, "_Heus tibi, Dave!_" "_Adsum_," answered the youth, entering the apartment. "Hem!" said the erudite Triptolemus, "not altogether deficient in his humanities, I see. I will try him further.--Canst thou aught of husbandry, young gentleman?" "Troth, sir, not I," answered Mordaunt; "I have been trained to plough upon the sea, and to reap upon the crag." "Plough the sea!" said Triptolemus; "that's a furrow requires small harrowing; and for your harvest on the crag, I suppose you mean these _scowries_, or whatever you call them. It is a sort of ingathering which the Ranzelman should stop by the law; nothing more likely to break an honest man's bones. I profess I cannot see the pleasure men propose by dangling in a rope's-end betwixt earth and heaven. In my case, I had as lief the other end of the rope were fastened to the gibbet; I should be sure of not falling, at least." "Now, I would only advise you to try it," replied Mordaunt. "Trust me, the world has few grander sensations than when one is perched in midair between a high-browed cliff and a roaring ocean, the rope by which you are sustained seeming scarce stronger than a silken thread, and the stone on which you have one foot steadied, affording such a breadth as the kittywake might rest upon--to feel and know all this, with the full confidence that your own agility of limb, and strength of head, can bring you as safe off as if you had the wing of the gosshawk--this is indeed being almost independent of the earth you tread on!" Triptolemus stared at this enthusiastic description of an amusement which had so few charms for him; and his sister, looking at the glancing eye and elevated bearing of the young adventurer, answered, by ejaculating, "My certie, lad, but ye are a brave chield!" "A brave chield?" returned Yellowley,--"I say a brave goose, to be flichtering and fleeing in the wind when he might abide upon _terra firma_! But come, here's a goose that is more to the purpose, when once it is well boiled. Get us trenchers and salt, Baby--but in truth it will prove salt enough--a tasty morsel it is; but I think the Zetlanders be the only folk in the world that think of running such risks to catch geese, and then boiling them when they have done." "To be sure," replied his sister, (it was the only word they had agreed in that day,) "it would be an unco thing to bid ony gudewife in Angus or a' the Mearns boil a goose, while there was sic things as spits in the warld.--But wha's this neist!" she added, looking towards the entrance with great indignation. "My certie, open doors, and dogs come in--and wha opened the door to him?" "I did, to be sure," replied Mordaunt; "you would not have a poor devil stand beating your deaf door-cheeks in weather like this?--Here goes something, though, to help the fire," he added, drawing out the sliding bar of oak with which the door had been secured, and throwing it on the hearth, whence it was snatched by Dame Baby in great wrath, she exclaiming at the same time,-- "It's sea-borne timber, as there's little else here, and he dings it about as if it were a fir-clog!--And who be you, an it please you?" she added, turning to the stranger,--"a very hallanshaker loon, as ever crossed my twa een!" "I am a jagger, if it like your ladyship," replied the uninvited guest, a stout vulgar, little man, who had indeed the humble appearance of a pedlar, called _jagger_ in these islands--"never travelled in a waur day, or was more willing to get to harbourage.--Heaven be praised for fire and house-room!" So saying, he drew a stool to the fire, and sat down without further ceremony. Dame Baby stared "wild as grey gosshawk," and was meditating how to express her indignation in something warmer than words, for which the boiling pot seemed to offer a convenient hint, when an old half-starved serving-woman--the Tronda already mentioned--the sharer of Barbara's domestic cares, who had been as yet in some remote corner of the mansion, now hobbled into the room, and broke out into exclamations which indicated some new cause of alarm. "O master!" and "O mistress!" were the only sounds she could for some time articulate, and then followed them up with, "The best in the house--the best in the house--set a' on the board, and a' will be little aneugh--There is auld Norna of Fitful-head, the most fearful woman in all the isles!" "Where can she have been wandering?" said Mordaunt, not without some apparent sympathy with the surprise, if not with the alarm, of the old domestic; "but it is needless to ask--the worse the weather, the more likely is she to be a traveller." "What new tramper is this?" echoed the distracted Baby, whom the quick succession of guests had driven wellnigh crazy with vexation. "I'll soon settle her wandering, I sall warrant, if my brother has but the saul of a man in him, or if there be a pair of jougs at Scalloway!" "The iron was never forged on stithy that would hauld her," said the old maid-servant. "She comes--she comes--God's sake speak her fair and canny, or we will have a ravelled hasp on the yarn-windles!" As she spoke, a woman, tall enough almost to touch the top of the door with her cap, stepped into the room, signing the cross as she entered, and pronouncing, with a solemn voice, "The blessing of God and Saint Ronald on the open door, and their broad malison and mine upon close-handed churls!" "And wha are ye, that are sae bauld wi' your blessing and banning in other folk's houses? What kind of country is this, that folk cannot sit quiet for an hour, and serve Heaven, and keep their bit gear thegither, without gangrel men and women coming thigging and sorning ane after another, like a string of wild-geese?" This speech, the understanding reader will easily saddle on Mistress Baby, and what effects it might have produced on the last stranger, can only be matter of conjecture; for the old servant and Mordaunt applied themselves at once to the party addressed, in order to deprecate her resentment; the former speaking to her some words of Norse, in a tone of intercession, and Mordaunt saying in English, "They are strangers, Norna, and know not your name or qualities; they are unacquainted, too, with the ways of this country, and therefore we must hold them excused for their lack of hospitality." "I lack no hospitality, young man," said Triptolemus, "_miseris succurrere disco_--the goose that was destined to roost in the chimney till Michaelmas, is boiling in the pot for you; but if we had twenty geese, I see we are like to find mouths to eat them every feather--this must be amended." "What must be amended, sordid slave?" said the stranger Norna, turning at once upon him with an emphasis that made him start--"_What_ must be amended? Bring hither, if thou wilt, thy new-fangled coulters, spades, and harrows, alter the implements of our fathers from the ploughshare to the mouse-trap; but know thou art in the land that was won of old by the flaxen-haired Kempions of the North, and leave us their hospitality at least, to show we come of what was once noble and generous. I say to you beware--while Norna looks forth at the measureless waters, from the crest of Fitful-head, something is yet left that resembles power of defence. If the men of Thule have ceased to be champions, and to spread the banquet for the raven, the women have not forgotten the arts that lifted them of yore into queens and prophetesses." The woman who pronounced this singular tirade, was as striking in appearance as extravagantly lofty in her pretensions and in her language. She might well have represented on the stage, so far as features, voice, and stature, were concerned, the Bonduca or Boadicea of the Britons, or the sage Velleda, Aurinia, or any other fated Pythoness, who ever led to battle a tribe of the ancient Goths. Her features were high and well formed, and would have been handsome, but for the ravages of time and the effects of exposure to the severe weather of her country. Age, and perhaps sorrow, had quenched, in some degree, the fire of a dark-blue eye, whose hue almost approached to black, and had sprinkled snow on such parts of her tresses as had escaped from under her cap, and were dishevelled by the rigour of the storm. Her upper garment, which dropped with water, was of a coarse dark-coloured stuff, called wadmaal, then much used in the Zetland islands, as also in Iceland and Norway. But as she threw this cloak back from her shoulders, a short jacket, of dark-blue velvet, stamped with figures, became visible, and the vest, which corresponded to it, was of crimson colour, and embroidered with tarnished silver. Her girdle was plated with silver ornaments, cut into the shape of planetary signs--her blue apron was embroidered with similar devices, and covered a petticoat of crimson cloth. Strong thick enduring shoes, of the half-dressed leather of the country, were tied with straps like those of the Roman buskins, over her scarlet stockings. She wore in her belt an ambiguous-looking weapon, which might pass for a sacrificing knife, or dagger, as the imagination of the spectator chose to assign to the wearer the character of a priestess or of a sorceress. In her hand she held a staff, squared on all sides, and engraved with Runic characters and figures, forming one of those portable and perpetual calendars which were used among the ancient natives of Scandinavia, and which, to a superstitious eye, might have passed for a divining rod. Such were the appearance, features, and attire, of Norna of the Fitful-head, upon whom many of the inhabitants of the island looked with observance, many with fear, and almost all with a sort of veneration. Less pregnant circumstances of suspicion would, in any other part of Scotland, have exposed her to the investigation of those cruel inquisitors, who were then often invested with the delegated authority of the Privy Council, for the purpose of persecuting, torturing, and finally consigning to the flames, those who were accused of witchcraft or sorcery. But superstitions of this nature pass through two stages ere they become entirely obsolete. Those supposed to be possessed of supernatural powers, are venerated in the earlier stages of society. As religion and knowledge increase, they are first held in hatred and horror, and are finally regarded as impostors. Scotland was in the second state--the fear of witchcraft was great, and the hatred against those suspected of it intense. Zetland was as yet a little world by itself, where, among the lower and ruder classes, so much of the ancient northern superstition remained, as cherished the original veneration for those affecting supernatural knowledge, and power over the elements, which made a constituent part of the ancient Scandinavian creed. At least if the natives of Thule admitted that one class of magicians performed their feats by their alliance with Satan, they devoutly believed that others dealt with spirits of a different and less odious class--the ancient Dwarfs, called, in Zetland, Trows, or Drows, the modern fairies, and so forth. Among those who were supposed to be in league with disembodied spirits, this Norna, descended from, and representative of, a family, which had long pretended to such gifts, was so eminent, that the name assigned to her, which signifies one of those fatal sisters who weave the web of human fate, had been conferred in honour of her supernatural powers. The name by which she had been actually christened was carefully concealed by herself and her parents; for to its discovery they superstitiously annexed some fatal consequences. In those times, the doubt only occurred, whether her supposed powers were acquired by lawful means. In our days, it would have been questioned whether she was an impostor, or whether her imagination was so deeply impressed with the mysteries of her supposed art, that she might be in some degree a believer in her own pretensions to supernatural knowledge. Certain it is, that she performed her part with such undoubting confidence, and such striking dignity of look and action, and evinced, at the same time, such strength of language, and energy of purpose, that it would have been difficult for the greatest sceptic to have doubted the reality of her enthusiasm, though he might smile at the pretensions to which it gave rise. FOOTNOTES: [24] When a person changes his condition suddenly, as when a miser becomes liberal, or a churl good-humoured, he is said, in Scotch, to be _fey_; that is, predestined to speedy death, of which such mutations of humour are received as a sure indication. [25] A pedlar. CHAPTER VI. ----If, by your art, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. _Tempest._ The storm had somewhat relaxed its rigour just before the entrance of Norna, otherwise she must have found it impossible to travel during the extremity of its fury. But she had hardly added herself so unexpectedly to the party whom chance had assembled at the dwelling of Triptolemus Yellowley, when the tempest suddenly resumed its former vehemence, and raged around the building with a fury which made the inmates insensible to any thing except the risk that the old mansion was about to fall above their heads. Mistress Baby gave vent to her fears in loud exclamations of "The Lord guide us--this is surely the last day--what kind of a country of guisards and gyre-carlines is this!--and you, ye fool carle," she added, turning on her brother, (for all her passions had a touch of acidity in them,) "to quit the bonny Mearns land to come here, where there is naething but sturdy beggars and gaberlunzies within ane's house, and Heaven's anger on the outside on't!" "I tell you, sister Baby," answered the insulted agriculturist, "that all shall be reformed and amended,--excepting," he added, betwixt his teeth, "the scaulding humours of an ill-natured jaud, that can add bitterness to the very storm!" The old domestic and the pedlar meanwhile exhausted themselves in entreaties to Norna, of which, as they were couched in the Norse language, the master of the house understood nothing. She listened to them with a haughty and unmoved air, and replied at length aloud, and in English--"I will not. What if this house be strewed in ruins before morning--where would be the world's want in the crazed projector, and the niggardly pinch-commons, by which it is inhabited? They will needs come to reform Zetland customs, let them try how they like a Zetland storm.--You that would not perish, quit this house!" The pedlar seized on his little knapsack, and began hastily to brace it on his back; the old maid-servant cast her cloak about her shoulders, and both seemed to be in the act of leaving the house as fast as they could. Triptolemus Yellowley, somewhat commoved by these appearances, asked Mordaunt, with a voice which faltered with apprehension, whether he thought there was any, that is, so very much danger? "I cannot tell," answered the youth, "I have scarce ever seen such a storm. Norna can tell us better than any one when it will abate; for no one in these islands can judge of the weather like her." "And is that all thou thinkest Norna can do?" said the sibyl; "thou shalt know her powers are not bounded within such a narrow space. Hear me, Mordaunt, youth of a foreign land, but of a friendly heart--Dost thou quit this doomed mansion with those who now prepare to leave it?" "I do not--I will not, Norna," replied Mordaunt; "I know not your motive for desiring me to remove, and I will not leave, upon these dark threats, the house in which I have been kindly received in such a tempest as this. If the owners are unaccustomed to our practice of unlimited hospitality, I am the more obliged to them that they have relaxed their usages, and opened their doors in my behalf." "He is a brave lad," said Mistress Baby, whose superstitious feelings had been daunted by the threats of the supposed sorceress, and who, amidst her eager, narrow, and repining disposition, had, like all who possess marked character, some sparks of higher feeling, which made her sympathize with generous sentiments, though she thought it too expensive to entertain them at her own cost--"He is a brave lad," she again repeated, "and worthy of ten geese, if I had them to boil for him, or roast either. I'll warrant him a gentleman's son, and no churl's blood." "Hear me, young Mordaunt," said Norna, "and depart from this house. Fate has high views on you--you shall not remain in this hovel to be crushed amid its worthless ruins, with the relics of its more worthless inhabitants, whose life is as little to the world as the vegetation of the house-leek, which now grows on their thatch, and which shall soon be crushed amongst their mangled limbs." "I--I--I will go forth," said Yellowley, who, despite of his bearing himself scholarly and wisely, was beginning to be terrified for the issue of the adventure; for the house was old, and the walls rocked formidably to the blast. "To what purpose?" said his sister. "I trust the Prince of the power of the air has not yet such-like power over those that are made in God's image, that a good house should fall about our heads, because a randy quean" (here she darted a fierce glance at the Pythoness) "should boast us with her glamour, as if we were sae mony dogs to crouch at her bidding!" "I was only wanting," said Triptolemus, ashamed of his motion, "to look at the bear-braird, which must be sair laid wi' this tempest; but if this honest woman like to bide wi' us, I think it were best to let us a' sit doun canny thegither, till it's working weather again." "Honest woman!" echoed Baby--"Foul warlock thief!--Aroint ye, ye limmer!" she added, addressing Norna directly; "out of an honest house, or, shame fa' me, but I'll take the bittle[26] to you!" Norna cast on her a look of supreme contempt; then, stepping to the window, seemed engaged in deep contemplation of the heavens, while the old maid-servant, Tronda, drawing close to her mistress, implored, for the sake of all that was dear to man or woman, "Do not provoke Norna of Fitful-head! You have no sic woman on the mainland of Scotland--she can ride on one of these clouds as easily as man ever rode on a sheltie." "I shall live to see her ride on the reek of a fat tar-barrel," said Mistress Baby; "and that will be a fit pacing palfrey for her." Again Norna regarded the enraged Mrs. Baby Yellowley with a look of that unutterable scorn which her haughty features could so well express, and moving to the window which looked to the north-west, from which quarter the gale seemed at present to blow, she stood for some time with her arms crossed, looking out upon the leaden-coloured sky, obscured as it was by the thick drift, which, coming on in successive gusts of tempest, left ever and anon sad and dreary intervals of expectation betwixt the dying and the reviving blast. Norna regarded this war of the elements as one to whom their strife was familiar; yet the stern serenity of her features had in it a cast of awe, and at the same time of authority, as the cabalist may be supposed to look upon the spirit he has evoked, and which, though he knows how to subject him to his spell, bears still an aspect appalling to flesh and blood. The attendants stood by in different attitudes, expressive of their various feelings. Mordaunt, though not indifferent to the risk in which they stood, was more curious than alarmed. He had heard of Norna's alleged power over the elements, and now expected an opportunity of judging for himself of its reality. Triptolemus Yellowley was confounded at what seemed to be far beyond the bounds of his philosophy; and, if the truth must be spoken, the worthy agriculturist was greatly more frightened than inquisitive. His sister was not in the least curious on the subject; but it was difficult to say whether anger or fear predominated in her sharp eyes and thin compressed lips. The pedlar and old Tronda, confident that the house would never fall while the redoubted Norna was beneath its roof, held themselves ready for a start the instant she should take her departure. Having looked on the sky for some time in a fixed attitude, and with the most profound silence, Norna at once, yet with a slow and elevated gesture, extended her staff of black oak towards that part of the heavens from which the blast came hardest, and in the midst of its fury chanted a Norwegian invocation, still preserved in the Island of Uist, under the name of the Song of the Reimkennar, though some call it the Song of the Tempest. The following is a free translation, it being impossible to render literally many of the elliptical and metaphorical terms of expression, peculiar to the ancient Northern poetry:-- 1. "Stern eagle of the far north-west, Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt, Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of navies, Thou the breaker down of towers, Amidst the scream of thy rage, Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation, Though the rushing of thy wings be like the roar of ten thousand waves, Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste, Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar. 2. "Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their uprooted stems; Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, And she has struck to thee the topsail That she had not veiled to a royal armada; Thou hast met the tower that hears its crest among the clouds, The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former days, And the cope-stone of the turret Is lying upon its hospitable hearth; But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds, When thou hearest the voice of the Reim-kennar. 3. "There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest, Ay, and when the dark-coloured dog is opening on his track; There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the wing, Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses, And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler. Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drowning mariner, And the crash of the ravaged forest, And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds, When the church hath fallen in the moment of prayer, There are sounds which thou also must list, When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim-kennar. 4. "Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean, The widows wring their hands on the beach; Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land, The husbandman folds his arms in despair; Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, Let the ocean repose in her dark strength; Cease thou the flashing of thine eye. Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armoury of Odin; Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-western heaven, Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim-kennar!" We have said that Mordaunt was naturally fond of romantic poetry and romantic situation; it is not therefore surprising that he listened with interest to the wild address thus uttered to the wildest wind of the compass, in a tone of such dauntless enthusiasm. But though he had heard so much of the Runic rhyme and of the northern spell, in the country where he had so long dwelt, he was not on this occasion so credulous as to believe that the tempest, which had raged so lately, and which was now beginning to decline, was subdued before the charmed verse of Norna. Certain it was, that the blast seemed passing away, and the apprehended danger was already over; but it was not improbable that this issue had been for some time foreseen by the Pythoness, through signs of the weather imperceptible to those who had not dwelt long in the country, or had not bestowed on the meteorological phenomena the attention of a strict and close observer. Of Norna's experience he had no doubt, and that went a far way to explain what seemed supernatural in her demeanour. Yet still the noble countenance, half-shaded by dishevelled tresses, the air of majesty with which, in a tone of menace as well as of command, she addressed the viewless spirit of the tempest, gave him a strong inclination to believe in the ascendency of the occult arts over the powers of nature; for, if a woman ever moved on earth to whom such authority over the ordinary laws of the universe could belong, Norna of Fitful-head, judging from bearing, figure, and face, was born to that high destiny. The rest of the company were less slow in receiving conviction. To Tronda and the jagger none was necessary; they had long believed in the full extent of Norna's authority over the elements. But Triptolemus and his sister gazed at each other with wondering and alarmed looks, especially when the wind began perceptibly to decline, as was remarkably visible during the pauses which Norna made betwixt the strophes of her incantation. A long silence followed the last verse, until Norna resumed her chant, but with a changed and more soothing modulation of voice and tune. "Eagle of the far north-western waters, Thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar, Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, And folded them in peace by thy side. My blessing be on thy retiring path! When thou stoopest from thy place on high, Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown ocean, Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee; Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar!" "A pretty sang that would be to keep the corn from shaking in har'st," whispered the agriculturist to his sister; "we must speak her fair, Baby--she will maybe part with the secret for a hundred pund Scots." "An hundred fules' heads!" replied Baby--"bid her five merks of ready siller. I never knew a witch in my life but she was as poor as Job." Norna turned towards them as if she had guessed their thoughts; it may be that she did so. She passed them with a look of the most sovereign contempt, and walking to the table on which the preparations for Mrs. Barbara's frugal meal were already disposed, she filled a small wooden quaigh from an earthen pitcher which contained bland, a subacid liquor made out of the serous part of the milk. She broke a single morsel from a barley-cake, and having eaten and drunk, returned towards the churlish hosts. "I give you no thanks," she said, "for my refreshment, for you bid me not welcome to it; and thanks bestowed on a churl are like the dew of heaven on the cliffs of Foulah, where it finds nought that can be refreshed by its influences. I give you no thanks," she said again, but drawing from her pocket a leathern purse that seemed large and heavy, she added, "I pay you with what you will value more than the gratitude of the whole inhabitants of Hialtland. Say not that Norna of Fitful-head hath eaten of your bread and drunk of your cup, and left you sorrowing for the charge to which she hath put your house." So saying, she laid on the table a small piece of antique gold coin, bearing the rude and half-defaced effigies of some ancient northern king. Triptolemus and his sister exclaimed against this liberality with vehemence; the first protesting that he kept no public, and the other exclaiming, "Is the carline mad? Heard ye ever of ony of the gentle house of Clinkscale that gave meat for siller?" "Or for love either?" muttered her brother; "haud to that, tittie." "What are ye whittie-whattieing about, ye gowk?" said his gentle sister, who suspected the tenor of his murmurs; "gie the ladie back her bonnie-die there, and be blithe to be sae rid on't--it will be a sclate-stane the morn, if not something worse." The honest factor lifted the money to return it, yet could not help being struck when he saw the impression, and his hand trembled as he handed it to his sister. "Yes," said the Pythoness again, as if she read the thoughts of the astonished pair, "you have seen that coin before--beware how you use it! It thrives not with the sordid or the mean-souled--it was won with honourable danger, and must be expended with honourable liberality. The treasure which lies under a cold hearth will one day, like the hidden talent, bear witness against its avaricious possessors." This last obscure intimation seemed to raise the alarm and the wonder of Mrs. Baby and her brother to the uttermost. The latter tried to stammer out something like an invitation to Norna to tarry with them all night, or at least to take share of the "dinner," so he at first called it; but looking at the company, and remembering the limited contents of the pot, he corrected the phrase, and hoped she would take some part of the "snack, which would be on the table ere a man could loose a pleugh." "I eat not here--I sleep not here," replied Norna--"nay, I relieve you not only of my own presence, but I will dismiss your unwelcome guests.--Mordaunt," she added, addressing young Mertoun, "the dark fit is past, and your father looks for you this evening." "Do you return in that direction?" said Mordaunt. "I will but eat a morsel, and give you my aid, good mother, on the road. The brooks must be out, and the journey perilous." "Our roads lie different," answered the Sibyl, "and Norna needs not mortal arm to aid her on the way. I am summoned far to the east, by those who know well how to smooth my passage.--For thee, Bryce Snailsfoot," she continued, speaking to the pedlar, "speed thee on to Sumburgh--the Roost will afford thee a gallant harvest, and worthy the gathering in. Much goodly ware will ere now be seeking a new owner, and the careful skipper will sleep still enough in the deep haaf, and care not that bale and chest are dashing against the shores." "Na, na, good mother," answered Snailsfoot, "I desire no man's life for my private advantage, and am just grateful for the blessing of Providence on my sma' trade. But doubtless one man's loss is another's gain; and as these storms destroy a' thing on land, it is but fair they suld send us something by sea. Sae, taking the freedom, like yoursell, mother, to borrow a lump of barley-bread, and a draught of bland, I will bid good-day, and thank you, to this good gentleman and lady, and e'en go on my way to Jarlshof, as you advise." "Ay," replied the Pythoness, "where the slaughter is, the eagles will be gathered; and where the wreck is on the shore, the jagger is as busy to purchase spoil as the shark to gorge upon the dead." This rebuke, if it was intended for such, seemed above the comprehension of the travelling merchant, who, bent upon gain, assumed the knapsack and ellwand, and asked Mordaunt, with the familiarity permitted in a wild country, whether he would not take company along with him? "I wait to eat some dinner with Mr. Yellowley and Mrs. Baby," answered the youth, "and will set forward in half an hour." "Then I'll just take my piece in my hand," said the pedlar. Accordingly he muttered a benediction, and, without more ceremony, helped himself to what, in Mrs. Baby's covetous eyes, appeared to be two-thirds of the bread, took a long pull at the jug of bland, seized on a handful of the small fish called sillocks, which the domestic was just placing on the board, and left the room without farther ceremony. "My certie," said the despoiled Mrs. Baby, "there is the chapman's drouth[27] and his hunger baith, as folk say! If the laws against vagrants be executed this gate--It's no that I wad shut the door against decent folk," she said, looking to Mordaunt, "more especially in such judgment-weather. But I see the goose is dished, poor thing." This she spoke in a tone of affection for the smoked goose, which, though it had long been an inanimate inhabitant of her chimney, was far more interesting to Mrs. Baby in that state, than when it screamed amongst the clouds. Mordaunt laughed and took his seat, then turned to look for Norna; but she had glided from the apartment during the discussion with the pedlar. "I am glad she is gane, the dour carline," said Mrs. Baby, "though she has left that piece of gowd to be an everlasting shame to us." "Whisht, mistress, for the love of heaven!" said Tronda Dronsdaughter; "wha kens where she may be this moment?--we are no sure but she may hear us, though we cannot see her." Mistress Baby cast a startled eye around, and instantly recovering herself, for she was naturally courageous as well as violent, said, "I bade her aroint before, and I bid her aroint again, whether she sees me or hears me, or whether she's ower the cairn and awa.--And you, ye silly sumph," she said to poor Yellowley, "what do ye stand glowering there for?--_You_ a Saunt Andrew's student!--_you_ studied lair and Latin humanities, as ye ca' them, and daunted wi' the clavers of an auld randie wife! Say your best college grace, man, and witch, or nae witch, we'll eat our dinner, and defy her. And for the value of the gowden piece, it shall never be said I pouched her siller. I will gie it to some poor body--that is, I will test[28] upon it at my death, and keep it for a purse-penny till that day comes, and that's no using it in the way of spending siller. Say your best college grace, man, and let us eat and drink in the meantime." "Ye had muckle better say an _oraamus_ to Saint Ronald, and fling a saxpence ower your left shouther, master," said Tronda.[29] "That ye may pick it up, ye jaud," said the implacable Mistress Baby; "it will be lang or ye win the worth of it ony other gate.--Sit down, Triptolemus, and mindna the words of a daft wife." "Daft or wise," replied Yellowley, very much disconcerted, "she kens more than I would wish she kend. It was awfu' to see sic a wind fa' at the voice of flesh and blood like oursells--and then yon about the hearth-stane--I cannot but think"---- "If ye cannot but think," said Mrs. Baby, very sharply, "at least ye can haud your tongue?" The agriculturist made no reply, but sate down to their scanty meal, and did the honours of it with unusual heartiness to his new guest, the first of the intruders who had arrived, and the last who left them. The sillocks speedily disappeared, and the smoked goose, with its appendages, took wing so effectually, that Tronda, to whom the polishing of the bones had been destined, found the task accomplished, or nearly so, to her hand. After dinner, the host produced his bottle of brandy; but Mordaunt, whose general habits were as abstinent almost as those of his father, laid a very light tax upon this unusual exertion of hospitality. During the meal, they learned so much of young Mordaunt, and of his father, that even Baby resisted his wish to reassume his wet garments, and pressed him (at the risk of an expensive supper being added to the charges of the day) to tarry with them till the next morning. But what Norna had said excited the youth's wish to reach home, nor, however far the hospitality of Stourburgh was extended in his behalf, did the house present any particular temptations to induce him to remain there longer. He therefore accepted the loan of the factor's clothes, promising to return them, and send for his own; and took a civil leave of his host and Mistress Baby, the latter of whom, however affected by the loss of her goose, could not but think the cost well bestowed (since it was to be expended at all) upon so handsome and cheerful a youth. FOOTNOTES: [26] The beetle with which the Scottish housewives used to perform the office of the modern mangle, by beating newly-washed linen on a smooth stone for the purpose, called the beetling-stone. [27] The chapman's drouth, that is, the pedlar's thirst, is proverbial in Scotland, because these pedestrian traders were in the use of modestly asking only for a drink of water, when, in fact, they were desirous of food. [28] Test upon it, _i. e._, leave it in my will; a mode of bestowing charity, to which many are partial as well as the good dame in the text. [29] Although the Zetlanders were early reconciled to the reformed faith, some ancient practices of Catholic superstition survived long among them. In very stormy weather a fisher would vow an _oramus_ to Saint Ronald, and acquitted himself of the obligation by throwing a small piece of money in at the window of a ruinous chapel. CHAPTER VII. She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean; Engulfing those she strangles, her wild womb Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on, Their death at once, and sepulchre. _Old Play._ There were ten "lang Scots miles" betwixt Stourburgh and Jarlshof; and though the pedestrian did not number all the impediments which crossed Tam o' Shanter's path,--for in a country where there are neither hedges nor stone enclosures, there can be neither "slaps nor stiles,"--yet the number and nature of the "mosses and waters" which he had to cross in his peregrination, was fully sufficient to balance the account, and to render his journey as toilsome and dangerous as Tam o' Shanter's celebrated retreat from Ayr. Neither witch nor warlock crossed Mordaunt's path, however. The length of the day was already considerable, and he arrived safe at Jarlshof by eleven o'clock at night. All was still and dark round the mansion, and it was not till he had whistled twice or thrice beneath Swertha's window, that she replied to the signal. At the first sound, Swertha fell into an agreeable dream of a young whale-fisher, who some forty years before used to make such a signal beneath the window of her hut; at the second, she waked to remember that Johnnie Fea had slept sound among the frozen waves of Greenland for this many a year, and that she was Mr. Mertoun's governante at Jarlshof; at the third, she arose and opened the window. "Whae is that," she demanded, "at sic an hour of the night?" "It is I," said the youth. "And what for comena ye in? The door's on the latch, and there is a gathering peat on the kitchen fire, and a spunk beside it--ye can light your ain candle." "All well," replied Mordaunt; "but I want to know how my father is?" "Just in his ordinary, gude gentleman--asking for you, Maister Mordaunt; ye are ower far and ower late in your walks, young gentleman." "Then the dark hour has passed, Swertha?" "In troth has it, Maister Mordaunt," answered the governante; "and your father is very reasonably good-natured for him, poor gentleman. I spake to him twice yesterday without his speaking first; and the first time he answered me as civil as you could do, and the neist time he bade me no plague him; and then, thought I, three times were aye canny, so I spake to him again for luck's-sake, and he called me a chattering old devil; but it was quite and clean in a civil sort of way." "Enough, enough, Swertha," answered Mordaunt; "and now get up, and find me something to eat, for I have dined but poorly." "Then you have been at the new folk's at Stourburgh; for there is no another house in a' the Isles but they wad hae gi'en ye the best share of the best they had. Saw ye aught of Norna of the Fitful-head? She went to Stourburgh this morning, and returned to the town at night." "Returned!--then she is here? How could she travel three leagues and better in so short a time?" "Wha kens how she travels?" replied Swertha; "but I heard her tell the Ranzelman wi' my ain lugs, that she intended that day to have gone on to Burgh-Westra, to speak with Minna Troil, but she had seen that at Stourburgh, (indeed she said at Harfra, for she never calls it by the other name of Stourburgh,) that sent her back to our town. But gang your ways round, and ye shall have plenty of supper--ours is nae toom pantry, and still less a locked ane, though my master be a stranger, and no just that tight in the upper rigging, as the Ranzelman says." Mordaunt walked round to the kitchen accordingly, where Swertha's care speedily accommodated him with a plentiful, though coarse meal, which indemnified him for the scanty hospitality he had experienced at Stourburgh. In the morning, some feelings of fatigue made young Mertoun later than usual in leaving his bed; so that, contrary to what was the ordinary case, he found his father in the apartment where they eat, and which served them indeed for every common purpose, save that of a bedchamber or of a kitchen. The son greeted the father in mute reverence, and waited until he should address him. "You were absent yesterday, Mordaunt?" said his father. Mordaunt's absence had lasted a week and more; but he had often observed that his father never seemed to notice how time passed during the period when he was affected with his sullen vapours. He assented to what the elder Mr. Mertoun had said. "And you were at Burgh-Westra, as I think?" continued his father. "Yes, sir," replied Mordaunt. The elder Mertoun was then silent for some time, and paced the floor in deep silence, with an air of sombre reflection, which seemed as if he were about to relapse into his moody fit. Suddenly turning to his son, however, he observed, in the tone of a query, "Magnus Troil has two daughters--they must be now young women; they are thought handsome, of course?" "Very generally, sir," answered Mordaunt, rather surprised to hear his father making any enquiries about the individuals of a sex which he usually thought so light of, a surprise which was much increased by the next question, put as abruptly as the former. "Which think you the handsomest?" "I, sir?" replied his son with some wonder, but without embarrassment--"I really am no judge--I never considered which was absolutely the handsomest. They are both very pretty young women." "You evade my question, Mordaunt; perhaps I have some very particular reason for my wish to be acquainted with your taste in this matter. I am not used to waste words for no purpose. I ask you again, which of Magnus Troil's daughters you think most handsome?" "Really, sir," replied Mordaunt--"but you only jest in asking me such a question." "Young man," replied Mertoun, with eyes which began to roll and sparkle with impatience, "I _never_ jest. I desire an answer to my question." "Then, upon my word, sir," said Mordaunt, "it is not in my power to form a judgment betwixt the young ladies--they are both very pretty, but by no means like each other. Minna is dark-haired, and more grave than her sister--more serious, but by no means either dull or sullen." "Um," replied his father; "you have been gravely brought up, and this Minna, I suppose, pleases you most?" "No, sir, really I can give her no preference over her sister Brenda, who is as gay as a lamb in a spring morning--less tall than her sister, but so well formed, and so excellent a dancer"---- "That she is best qualified to amuse the young man, who has a dull home and a moody father?" said Mr. Mertoun. Nothing in his father's conduct had ever surprised Mordaunt so much as the obstinacy with which he seemed to pursue a theme so foreign to his general train of thought, and habits of conversation; but he contented himself with answering once more, "that both the young ladies were highly admirable, but he had never thought of them with the wish to do either injustice, by ranking her lower than her sister--that others would probably decide between them, as they happened to be partial to a grave or a gay disposition, or to a dark or fair complexion; but that he could see no excellent quality in the one that was not balanced by something equally captivating in the other." It is possible that even the coolness with which Mordaunt made this explanation might not have satisfied his father concerning the subject of investigation; but Swertha at this moment entered with breakfast, and the youth, notwithstanding his late supper, engaged in that meal with an air which satisfied Mertoun that he held it matter of more grave importance than the conversation which they had just had, and that he had nothing more to say upon the subject explanatory of the answers he had already given. He shaded his brow with his hand, and looked long fixedly upon the young man as he was busied with his morning meal. There was neither abstraction nor a sense of being observed in any of his motions; all was frank, natural, and open. "He is fancy-free," muttered Mertoun to himself--"so young, so lively, and so imaginative, so handsome and so attractive in face and person, strange, that at his age, and in his circumstances, he should have avoided the meshes which catch all the world beside!" When the breakfast was over, the elder Mertoun, instead of proposing, as usual, that his son, who awaited his commands, should betake himself to one branch or other of his studies, assumed his hat and staff, and desired that Mordaunt should accompany him to the top of the cliff, called Sumburgh-head, and from thence look out upon the state of the ocean, agitated as it must still be by the tempest of the preceding day. Mordaunt was at the age when young men willingly exchange sedentary pursuits for active exercise, and started up with alacrity to comply with his father's desire; and in the course of a few minutes they were mounting together the hill, which, ascending from the land side in a long, steep, and grassy slope, sinks at once from the summit to the sea in an abrupt and tremendous precipice. The day was delightful; there was just so much motion in the air as to disturb the little fleecy clouds which were scattered on the horizon, and by floating them occasionally over the sun, to chequer the landscape with that variety of light and shade which often gives to a bare and unenclosed scene, for the time at least, a species of charm approaching to the varieties of a cultivated and planted country. A thousand flitting hues of light and shade played over the expanse of wild moor, rocks, and inlets, which, as they climbed higher and higher, spread in wide and wider circuit around them. The elder Mertoun often paused and looked round upon the scene, and for some time his son supposed that he halted to enjoy its beauties; but as they ascended still higher up the hill, he remarked his shortened breath and his uncertain and toilsome step, and became assured, with some feelings of alarm, that his father's strength was, for the moment, exhausted, and that he found the ascent more toilsome and fatiguing than usual. To draw close to his side, and offer him in silence the assistance of his arm, was an act of youthful deference to advanced age, as well as of filial reverence; and Mertoun seemed at first so to receive it, for he took in silence the advantage of the aid thus afforded him. It was but for two or three minutes, however, that the father availed himself of his son's support. They had not ascended fifty yards farther, ere he pushed Mordaunt suddenly, if not rudely, from him; and, as if stung into exertion by some sudden recollection, began to mount the acclivity with such long and quick steps, that Mordaunt, in his turn, was obliged to exert himself to keep pace with him. He knew his father's peculiarity of disposition; he was aware from many slight circumstances, that he loved him not even while he took much pains with his education, and while he seemed to be the sole object of his care upon earth. But the conviction had never been more strongly or more powerfully forced upon him than by the hasty churlishness with which Mertoun rejected from a son that assistance, which most elderly men are willing to receive from youths with whom they are but slightly connected, as a tribute which it is alike graceful to yield and pleasing to receive. Mertoun, however, did not seem to perceive the effect which his unkindness had produced upon his son's feelings. He paused upon a sort of level terrace which they had now attained, and addressed his son with an indifferent tone, which seemed in some degree affected. "Since you have so few inducements, Mordaunt, to remain in these wild islands, I suppose you sometimes wish to look a little more abroad into the world?" "By my word, sir," replied Mordaunt, "I cannot say I ever have a thought on such a subject." "And why not, young man?" demanded his father; "it were but natural, I think, at your age. At your age, the fair and varied breadth of Britain could not gratify me, much less the compass of a sea-girdled peat-moss." "I have never thought of leaving Zetland, sir," replied the son. "I am happy here, and have friends. You yourself, sir, would miss me, unless indeed"---- "Why, thou wouldst not persuade me," said his father, somewhat hastily, "that you stay here, or desire to stay here, for the love of me?" "Why should I not, sir?" answered Mordaunt, mildly; "it is my duty, and I hope I have hitherto performed it." "O ay," repeated Mertoun, in the same tone--"your duty--your duty. So it is the duty of the dog to follow the groom that feeds him." "And does he not do so, sir?" said Mordaunt. "Ay," said his father, turning his head aside: "but he fawns only on those who caress him." "I hope, sir," replied Mordaunt, "I have not been found deficient?" "Say no more on't--say no more on't," said Mertoun, abruptly, "we have both done enough by each other--we must soon part--Let that be our comfort--if our separation should require comfort." "I shall be ready to obey your wishes," said Mordaunt, not altogether displeased at what promised him an opportunity of looking farther abroad into the world. "I presume it will be your pleasure that I commence my travels with a season at the whale-fishing." "Whale-fishing!" replied Mertoun; "that were a mode indeed of seeing the world! but thou speakest but as thou hast learned. Enough of this for the present. Tell me where you had shelter from the storm yesterday?" "At Stourburgh, the house of the new factor from Scotland." "A pedantic, fantastic, visionary schemer," said Mertoun--"and whom saw you there?" "His sister, sir," replied Mordaunt, "and old Norna of the Fitful-head." "What! the mistress of the potent spell," answered Mertoun, with a sneer--"she who can change the wind by pulling her curch on one side, as King Erick used to do by turning his cap? The dame journeys far from home--how fares she? Does she get rich by selling favourable winds to those who are port-bound?"[30] "I really do not know, sir," said Mordaunt, whom certain recollections prevented from freely entering into his father's humour. "You think the matter too serious to be jested with, or perhaps esteem her merchandise too light to be cared after," continued Mertoun, in the same sarcastic tone, which was the nearest approach he ever made to cheerfulness; "but consider it more deeply. Every thing in the universe is bought and sold, and why not wind, if the merchant can find purchasers? The earth is rented, from its surface down to its most central mines;--the fire, and the means of feeding it, are currently bought and sold;--the wretches that sweep the boisterous ocean with their nets, pay ransom for the privilege of being drowned in it. What title has the air to be exempted from the universal course of traffic? All above the earth, under the earth, and around the earth, has its price, its sellers, and its purchasers. In many countries the priests will sell you a portion of heaven--in all countries men are willing to buy, in exchange for health, wealth, and peace of conscience, a full allowance of hell. Why should not Norna pursue her traffic?" "Nay, I know no reason against it," replied Mordaunt; "only I wish she would part with the commodity in smaller quantities. Yesterday she was a wholesale dealer--whoever treated with her had too good a pennyworth." "It is even so," said his father, pausing on the verge of the wild promontory which they had attained, where the huge precipice sinks abruptly down on the wide and tempestuous ocean, "and the effects are still visible." The face of that lofty cape is composed of the soft and crumbling stone called sand-flag, which gradually becomes decomposed, and yields to the action of the atmosphere, and is split into large masses, that hang loose upon the verge of the precipice, and, detached from it by the violence of the tempests, often descend with great fury into the vexed abyss which lashes the foot of the rock. Numbers of these huge fragments lie strewed beneath the rocks from which they have fallen, and amongst these the tide foams and rages with a fury peculiar to those latitudes. At the period when Mertoun and his son looked from the verge of the precipice, the wide sea still heaved and swelled with the agitation of yesterday's storm, which had been far too violent in its effects on the ocean to subside speedily. The tide therefore poured on the headland with a fury deafening to the ear, and dizzying to the eye, threatening instant destruction to whatever might be at the time involved in its current. The sight of Nature, in her magnificence, or in her beauty, or in her terrors, has at all times an overpowering interest, which even habit cannot greatly weaken; and both father and son sat themselves down on the cliff to look out upon that unbounded war of waters, which rolled in their wrath to the foot of the precipice. At once Mordaunt, whose eyes were sharper, and probably his attention more alert, than that of his father, started up, and exclaimed, "God in Heaven! there is a vessel in the Roost!" Mertoun looked to the north-westward, and an object was visible amid the rolling tide. "She shows no sail," he observed; and immediately added, after looking at the object through his spy-glass, "She is dismasted, and lies a sheer hulk upon the water." "And is drifting on the Sumburgh-head," exclaimed Mordaunt, struck with horror, "without the slightest means of weathering the cape!" "She makes no effort," answered his father; "she is probably deserted by her crew." "And in such a day as yesterday," replied Mordaunt, "when no open boat could live were she manned with the best men ever handled an oar--all must have perished." "It is most probable," said his father, with stern composure; "and one day, sooner or later, all must have perished. What signifies whether the fowler, whom nothing escapes, caught them up at one swoop from yonder shattered deck, or whether he clutched them individually, as chance gave them to his grasp? What signifies it?--the deck, the battlefield, are scarce more fatal to us than our table and our bed; and we are saved from the one, merely to drag out a heartless and wearisome existence, till we perish at the other. Would the hour were come--that hour which reason would teach us to wish for, were it not that nature has implanted the fear of it so strongly within us! You wonder at such a reflection, because life is yet new to you. Ere you have attained my age, it will be the familiar companion of your thoughts." "Surely, sir," replied Mordaunt, "such distaste to life is not the necessary consequence of advanced age?" "To all who have sense to estimate that which it is really worth," said Mertoun. "Those who, like Magnus Troil, possess so much of the animal impulses about them, as to derive pleasure from sensual gratification, may perhaps, like the animals, feel pleasure in mere existence." Mordaunt liked neither the doctrine nor the example. He thought a man who discharged his duties towards others as well as the good old Udaller, had a better right to have the sun shine fair on his setting, than that which he might derive from mere insensibility. But he let the subject drop; for to dispute with his father, had always the effect of irritating him; and again he adverted to the condition of the wreck. The hulk, for it was little better, was now in the very midst of the current, and drifting at a great rate towards the foot of the precipice, upon whose verge they were placed. Yet it was a long while ere they had a distinct view of the object which they had at first seen as a black speck amongst the waters, and then, at a nearer distance, like a whale, which now scarce shows its back-fin above the waves, now throws to view its large black side. Now, however, they could more distinctly observe the appearance of the ship, for the huge swelling waves which bore her forward to the shore, heaved her alternately high upon the surface, and then plunged her into the trough or furrow of the sea. She seemed a vessel of two or three hundred tons, fitted up for defence, for they could see her port-holes. She had been dismasted probably in the gale of the preceding day, and lay water-logged on the waves, a prey to their violence. It appeared certain, that the crew, finding themselves unable either to direct the vessel's course, or to relieve her by pumping, had taken to their boats, and left her to her fate. All apprehensions were therefore unnecessary, so far as the immediate loss of human lives was concerned; and yet it was not without a feeling of breathless awe that Mordaunt and his father beheld the vessel--that rare masterpiece by which human genius aspires to surmount the waves, and contend with the winds, upon the point of falling a prey to them. Onward she came, the large black hulk seeming larger at every fathom's length. She came nearer, until she bestrode the summit of one tremendous billow, which rolled on with her unbroken, till the wave and its burden were precipitated against the rock, and then the triumph of the elements over the work of human hands was at once completed. One wave, we have said, made the wrecked vessel completely manifest in her whole bulk, as it raised her, and bore her onward against the face of the precipice. But when that wave receded from the foot of the rock, the ship had ceased to exist; and the retiring billow only bore back a quantity of beams, planks, casks, and similar objects, which swept out to the offing, to be brought in again by the next wave, and again precipitated upon the face of the rock. It was at this moment that Mordaunt conceived he saw a man floating on a plank or water-cask, which, drifting away from the main current, seemed about to go ashore upon a small spot of sand, where the water was shallow, and the waves broke more smoothly. To see the danger, and to exclaim, "He lives, and may yet be saved!" was the first impulse of the fearless Mordaunt. The next was, after one rapid glance at the front of the cliff, to precipitate himself--such seemed the rapidity of his movement--from the verge, and to commence, by means of slight fissures, projections, and crevices in the rock, a descent, which, to a spectator, appeared little else than an act of absolute insanity. "Stop, I command you, rash boy!" said his father; "the attempt is death. Stop, and take the safer path to the left." But Mordaunt was already completely engaged in his perilous enterprise. "Why should I prevent him?" said his father, checking his anxiety with the stern and unfeeling philosophy whose principles he had adopted. "Should he die now, full of generous and high feeling, eager in the cause of humanity, happy in the exertion of his own conscious activity, and youthful strength--should he die now, will he not escape misanthropy, and remorse, and age, and the consciousness of decaying powers, both of body and mind?--I will not look upon it however--I will not--I cannot behold his young light so suddenly quenched." He turned from the precipice accordingly, and hastening to the left for more than a quarter of a mile, he proceeded towards a _riva_, or cleft in the rock, containing a path, called Erick's Steps, neither safe, indeed, nor easy, but the only one by which the inhabitants of Jarlshof were wont, for any purpose, to seek access to the foot of the precipice. But long ere Mertoun had reached even the upper end of the pass, his adventurous and active son had accomplished his more desperate enterprise. He had been in vain turned aside from the direct line of descent, by the intervention of difficulties which he had not seen from above--his route became only more circuitous, but could not be interrupted. More than once, large fragments to which he was about to intrust his weight, gave way before him, and thundered down into the tormented ocean; and in one or two instances, such detached pieces of rock rushed after him, as if to bear him headlong in their course. A courageous heart, a steady eye, a tenacious hand, and a firm foot, carried him through his desperate attempt; and in the space of seven minutes, he stood at the bottom of the cliff, from the verge of which he had achieved his perilous descent. The place which he now occupied was the small projecting spot of stones, sand, and gravel, that extended a little way into the sea, which on the right hand lashed the very bottom of the precipice, and on the left, was scarce divided from it by a small wave-worn portion of beach that extended as far as the foot of the rent in the rocks called Erick's Steps, by which Mordaunt's father proposed to descend. When the vessel split and went to pieces, all was swallowed up in the ocean, which had, after the first shock, been seen to float upon the waves, excepting only a few pieces of wreck, casks, chests, and the like, which a strong eddy, formed by the reflux of the waves, had landed, or at least grounded, upon the shallow where Mordaunt now stood. Amongst these, his eager eye discovered the object that had at first engaged his attention, and which now, seen at nigher distance, proved to be in truth a man, and in a most precarious state. His arms were still wrapt with a close and convulsive grasp round the plank to which he had clung in the moment of the shock, but sense and the power of motion were fled; and, from the situation in which the plank lay, partly grounded upon the beach, partly floating in the sea, there was every chance that it might be again washed off shore, in which case death was inevitable. Just as he had made himself aware of these circumstances, Mordaunt beheld a huge wave advancing, and hastened to interpose his aid ere it burst, aware that the reflux might probably sweep away the sufferer. He rushed into the surf, and fastened on the body, with the same tenacity, though under a different impulse, with that wherewith the hound seizes his prey. The strength of the retiring wave proved even greater than he had expected, and it was not without a struggle for his own life, as well as for that of the stranger, that Mordaunt resisted being swept off with the receding billow, when, though an adroit swimmer, the strength of the tide must either have dashed him against the rocks, or hurried him out to sea. He stood his ground, however, and ere another such billow had returned, he drew up, upon the small slip of dry sand, both the body of the stranger, and the plank to which he continued firmly attached. But how to save and to recall the means of ebbing life and strength, and how to remove into a place of greater safety the sufferer, who was incapable of giving any assistance towards his own preservation, were questions which Mordaunt asked himself eagerly, but in vain. He looked to the summit of the cliff on which he had left his father, and shouted to him for his assistance; but his eye could not distinguish his form, and his voice was only answered by the scream of the sea-birds. He gazed again on the sufferer. A dress richly laced, according to the fashion of the times, fine linen, and rings upon his fingers, evinced he was a man of superior rank; and his features showed youth and comeliness, notwithstanding they were pallid and disfigured. He still breathed, but so feebly, that his respiration was almost imperceptible, and life seemed to keep such slight hold of his frame, that there was every reason to fear it would become altogether extinguished, unless it were speedily reinforced. To loosen the handkerchief from his neck, to raise him with his face towards the breeze, to support him with his arms, was all that Mordaunt could do for his assistance, whilst he anxiously looked for some one who might lend his aid in dragging the unfortunate to a more safe situation. At this moment he beheld a man advancing slowly and cautiously along the beach. He was in hopes, at first, it was his father, but instantly recollected that he had not had time to come round by the circuitous descent, to which he must necessarily have recourse, and besides, he saw that the man who approached him was shorter in stature. As he came nearer, Mordaunt was at no loss to recognise the pedlar whom the day before he had met with at Harfra, and who was known to him before upon many occasions. He shouted as loud as he could, "Bryce, hollo! Bryce, come hither!" But the merchant, intent upon picking up some of the spoils of the wreck, and upon dragging them out of reach of the tide, paid for some time little attention to his shouts. When he did at length approach Mordaunt, it was not to lend him his aid, but to remonstrate with him on his rashness in undertaking the charitable office. "Are you mad?" said he; "you that have lived sae lang in Zetland, to risk the saving of a drowning man? Wot ye not, if you bring him to life again, he will be sure to do you some capital injury?[31]--Come, Master Mordaunt, bear a hand to what's mair to the purpose. Help me to get ane or twa of these kists ashore before any body else comes, and we shall share, like good Christians, what God sends us, and be thankful." Mordaunt was indeed no stranger to this inhuman superstition, current at a former period among the lower orders of the Zetlanders, and the more generally adopted, perhaps, that it served as an apology for refusing assistance to the unfortunate victims of shipwreck, while they made plunder of their goods. At any rate, the opinion, that to save a drowning man was to run the risk of future injury from him, formed a strange contradiction in the character of these islanders; who, hospitable, generous, and disinterested, on all other occasions, were sometimes, nevertheless, induced by this superstition, to refuse their aid in those mortal emergencies, which were so common upon their rocky and stormy coasts. We are happy to add, that the exhortation and example of the proprietors have eradicated even the traces of this inhuman belief, of which there might be some observed within the memory of those now alive. It is strange that the minds of men should have ever been hardened towards those involved in a distress to which they themselves were so constantly exposed; but perhaps the frequent sight and consciousness of such danger tends to blunt the feelings to its consequences, whether affecting ourselves or others. Bryce was remarkably tenacious of this ancient belief; the more so, perhaps, that the mounting of his pack depended less upon the warehouses of Lerwick or Kirkwall, than on the consequences of such a north-western gale as that of the day preceding; for which (being a man who, in his own way, professed great devotion) he seldom failed to express his grateful thanks to Heaven. It was indeed said of him, that if he had spent the same time in assisting the wrecked seamen, which he had employed in rifling their bales and boxes, he would have saved many lives, and lost much linen. He paid no sort of attention to the repeated entreaties of Mordaunt, although he was now upon the same slip of sand with him. It was well known to Bryce as a place on which the eddy was likely to land such spoils as the ocean disgorged; and to improve the favourable moment, he occupied himself exclusively in securing and appropriating whatever seemed most portable and of greatest value. At length Mordaunt saw the honest pedlar fix his views upon a strong sea-chest, framed of some Indian wood, well secured by brass plates, and seeming to be of a foreign construction. The stout lock resisted all Bryce's efforts to open it, until, with great composure, he plucked from his pocket a very neat hammer and chisel, and began forcing the hinges. Incensed beyond patience at his assurance, Mordaunt caught up a wooden stretcher which lay near him, and laying his charge softly on the sand, approached Bryce with a menacing gesture, and exclaimed, "You cold-blooded, inhuman rascal! either get up instantly and lend me your assistance to recover this man, and bear him out of danger from the surf, or I will not only beat you to a mummy on the spot, but inform Magnus Troil of your thievery, that he may have you flogged till your bones are bare, and then banish you from the Mainland!" The lid of the chest had just sprung open as this rough address saluted Bryce's ears, and the inside presented a tempting view of wearing apparel for sea and land; shirts, plain and with lace ruffles, a silver compass, a silver-hilted sword, and other valuable articles, which the pedlar well knew to be such as stir in the trade. He was half-disposed to start up, draw the sword, which was a cut-and-thrust, and "darraign battaile," as Spenser says, rather than quit his prize, or brook interruption. Being, though short, a stout square-made personage, and not much past the prime of life, having besides the better weapon, he might have given Mordaunt more trouble than his benevolent knight-errantry deserved. Already, as with vehemence he repeated his injunctions that Bryce should forbear his plunder, and come to the assistance of the dying man, the pedlar retorted with a voice of defiance, "Dinna swear, sir; dinna swear, sir--I will endure no swearing in my presence; and if you lay a finger on me, that am taking the lawful spoil of the Egyptians, I will give ye a lesson ye shall remember from this day to Yule!" Mordaunt would speedily have put the pedlar's courage to the test, but a voice behind him suddenly said, "Forbear!" It was the voice of Norna of the Fitful-head, who, during the heat of their altercation, had approached them unobserved. "Forbear!" she repeated; "and, Bryce, do thou render Mordaunt the assistance he requires. It shall avail thee more, and it is I who say the word, than all that you could earn to-day besides." "It is se'enteen hundred linen," said the pedlar, giving a tweak to one of the shirts, in that knowing manner with which matrons and judges ascertain the texture of the loom;--"it's se'enteen hundred linen, and as strong as an it were dowlas. Nevertheless, mother, your bidding is to be done; and I would have done Mr. Mordaunt's bidding too," he added, relaxing from his note of defiance into the deferential whining tone with which he cajoled his customers, "if he hadna made use of profane oaths, which made my very flesh grew, and caused me, in some sort, to forget myself." He then took a flask from his pocket, and approached the shipwrecked man. "It's the best of brandy," he said; "and if that doesna cure him, I ken nought that will." So saying, he took a preliminary gulp himself, as if to show the quality of the liquor, and was about to put it to the man's mouth, when, suddenly withholding his hand, he looked at Norna--"You ensure me against all risk of evil from him, if I am to render him my help?--Ye ken yoursell what folk say, mother." For all other answer, Norna took the bottle from the pedlar's hand, and began to chafe the temples and throat of the shipwrecked man; directing Mordaunt how to hold his head, so as to afford him the means of disgorging the sea-water which he had swallowed during his immersion. The pedlar looked on inactive for a moment, and then said, "To be sure, there is not the same risk in helping him, now he is out of the water, and lying high and dry on the beach; and, to be sure, the principal danger is to those that first touch him; and, to be sure, it is a world's pity to see how these rings are pinching the puir creature's swalled fingers--they make his hand as blue as a partan's back before boiling." So saying, he seized one of the man's cold hands, which had just, by a tremulous motion, indicated the return of life, and began his charitable work of removing the rings, which seemed to be of some value. "As you love your life, forbear," said Norna, sternly, "or I will lay that on you which shall spoil your travels through the isles." "Now, for mercy's sake, mother, say nae mair about it," said the pedlar, "and I'll e'en do your pleasure in your ain way! I _did_ feel a rheumatize in my back-spauld yestreen; and it wad be a sair thing for the like of me to be debarred my quiet walk round the country, in the way of trade--making the honest penny, and helping myself with what Providence sends on our coasts." "Peace, then," said the woman--"Peace, as thou wouldst not rue it; and take this man on thy broad shoulders. His life is of value, and you will be rewarded." "I had muckle need," said the pedlar, pensively looking at the lidless chest, and the other matters which strewed the sand; "for he has come between me and as muckle spreacherie as wad hae made a man of me for the rest of my life; and now it maun lie here till the next tide sweep it a' doun the Roost, after them that aught it yesterday morning." "Fear not," said Norna, "it will come to man's use. See, there come carrion-crows, of scent as keen as thine own." She spoke truly; for several of the people from the hamlet of Jarlshof were now hastening along the beach, to have their share in the spoil. The pedlar beheld them approach with a deep groan. "Ay, ay," he said, "the folk of Jarlshof, they will make clean wark; they are kend for that far and wide; they winna leave the value of a rotten ratlin; and what's waur, there isna ane o' them has mense or sense eneugh to give thanks for the mercies when they have gotten them. There is the auld Ranzelman, Neil Ronaldson, that canna walk a mile to hear the minister, but he will hirple ten if he hears of a ship embayed." Norna, however, seemed to possess over him so complete an ascendency, that he no longer hesitated to take the man, who now gave strong symptoms of reviving existence, upon his shoulders; and, assisted by Mordaunt, trudged along the sea-beach with his burden, without farther remonstrance. Ere he was borne off, the stranger pointed to the chest, and attempted to mutter something, to which Norna replied, "Enough. It shall be secured." Advancing towards the passage called Erick's Steps, by which they were to ascend the cliffs, they met the people from Jarlshof hastening in the opposite direction. Man and woman, as they passed, reverently made room for Norna, and saluted her--not without an expression of fear upon some of their faces. She passed them a few paces, and then turning back, called aloud to the Ranzelman, who (though the practice was more common than legal) was attending the rest of the hamlet upon this plundering expedition. "Neil Ronaldson," she said, "mark my words. There stands yonder a chest, from which the lid has been just prized off. Look it be brought down to your own house at Jarlshof, just as it now is. Beware of moving or touching the slightest article. He were better in his grave that so much as looks at the contents. I speak not for nought, nor in aught will I be disobeyed." "Your pleasure shall be done, mother," said Ronaldson. "I warrant we will not break bulk, since sic is your bidding." Far behind the rest of the villagers, followed an old woman, talking to herself, and cursing her own decrepitude, which kept her the last of the party, yet pressing forward with all her might to get her share of the spoil. When they met her, Mordaunt was astonished to recognise his father's old housekeeper. "How now," he said, "Swertha, what make you so far from home?" "Just e'en daikering out to look after my auld master and your honour," replied Swertha, who felt like a criminal caught in the manner; for on more occasions than one, Mr. Mertoun had intimated his high disapprobation of such excursions as she was at present engaged in. But Mordaunt was too much engaged with his own thoughts to take much notice of her delinquency. "Have you seen my father?" he said. "And that I have," replied Swertha--"The gude gentleman was ganging to hirsel himsell doun Erick's Steps, whilk would have been the ending of him, that is in no way a cragsman. Sae I e'en gat him wiled away hame--and I was just seeking you that you may gang after him to the hall-house, for to my thought he is far frae weel." "My father unwell?" said Mordaunt, remembering the faintness he had exhibited at the commencement of that morning's walk. "Far frae weel--far frae weel," groaned out Swertha, with a piteous shake of the head--"white o' the gills--white o' the gills--and him to think of coming down the riva!" "Return home, Mordaunt," said Norna, who was listening to what had passed. "I will see all that is necessary done for this man's relief, and you will find him at the Ranzelman's, when you list to enquire. You cannot help him more than you already have done." Mordaunt felt this was true, and, commanding Swertha to follow him instantly, betook himself to the path homeward. Swertha hobbled reluctantly after her young master in the same direction, until she lost sight of him on his entering the cleft of the rock; then instantly turned about, muttering to herself, "Haste home, in good sooth?--haste home, and lose the best chance of getting a new rokelay and owerlay that I have had these ten years? by my certie, na--It's seldom sic rich godsends come on our shore--no since the Jenny and James came ashore in King Charlie's time." So saying, she mended her pace as well as she could, and, a willing mind making amends for frail limbs, posted on with wonderful dispatch to put in for her share of the spoil. She soon reached the beach, where the Ranzelman, stuffing his own pouches all the while, was exhorting the rest to part things fair, and be neighbourly, and to give to the auld and helpless a share of what was going, which, he charitably remarked, would bring a blessing on the shore, and send them "mair wrecks ere winter."[32] FOOTNOTES: [30] Note III.--Sale of Winds. [31] Note IV.--Reluctance to Save Drowning Men. [32] Note V.--Mair Wrecks ere Winter. CHAPTER VIII. He was a lovely youth, I guess; The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he; And when he chose to sport and play, No dolphin ever was so gay, Upon the tropic sea. WORDSWORTH. The light foot of Mordaunt Mertoun was not long of bearing him to Jarlshof. He entered the house hastily, for what he himself had observed that morning, corresponded in some degree with the ideas which Swertha's tale was calculated to excite. He found his father, however, in the inner apartment, reposing himself after his fatigue; and his first question satisfied him that the good dame had practised a little imposition to get rid of them both. "Where is this dying man, whom you have so wisely ventured your own neck to relieve?" said the elder Mertoun to the younger. "Norna, sir," replied Mordaunt, "has taken him under her charge; she understands such matters." "And is quack as well as witch?" said the elder Mertoun. "With all my heart--it is a trouble saved. But I hasted home, on Swertha's hint, to look out for lint and bandages; for her speech was of broken bones." Mordaunt kept silence, well knowing his father would not persevere in his enquiries upon such a matter, and not willing either to prejudice the old governante, or to excite his father to one of those excesses of passion into which he was apt to burst, when, contrary to his wont, he thought proper to correct the conduct of his domestic. It was late in the day ere old Swertha returned from her expedition, heartily fatigued, and bearing with her a bundle of some bulk, containing, it would seem, her share of the spoil. Mordaunt instantly sought her out, to charge her with the deceits she had practised on both his father and himself; but the accused matron lacked not her reply. "By her troth;" she said, "she thought it was time to bid Mr. Mertoun gang hame and get bandages, when she had seen, with her ain twa een, Mordaunt ganging down the cliff like a wild-cat--it was to be thought broken bones would be the end, and lucky if bandages wad do any good;--and, by her troth, she might weel tell Mordaunt his father was puirly, and him looking sae white in the gills, (whilk, she wad die upon it, was the very word she used,) and it was a thing that couldna be denied by man at this very moment." "But, Swertha," said Mordaunt, as soon as her clamorous defence gave him time to speak in reply, "how came you, that should have been busy with your housewifery and your spinning, to be out this morning at Erick's Steps, in order to take all this unnecessary care of my father and me?--And what is in that bundle, Swertha? for I fear, Swertha, you have been transgressing the law, and have been out upon the wrecking system." "Fair fa' your sonsy face, and the blessing of Saint Ronald upon you!" said Swertha, in a tone betwixt coaxing and jesting; "would you keep a puir body frae mending hersell, and sae muckle gear lying on the loose sand for the lifting?--Hout, Maister Mordaunt, a ship ashore is a sight to wile the minister out of his very pu'pit in the middle of his preaching, muckle mair a puir auld ignorant wife frae her rock and her tow. And little did I get for my day's wark--just some rags o' cambric things, and a bit or twa of coorse claith, and sic like--the strong and the hearty get a' thing in this warld." "Yes, Swertha," replied Mordaunt, "and that is rather hard, as you must have your share of punishment in this world and the next, for robbing the poor mariners." "Hout, callant, wha wad punish an auld wife like me for a wheen duds?--Folk speak muckle black ill of Earl Patrick; but he was a freend to the shore, and made wise laws against ony body helping vessels that were like to gang on the breakers.[33]--And the mariners, I have heard Bryce Jagger say, lose their right frae the time keel touches sand; and, moreover, they are dead and gane, poor souls--dead and gane, and care little about warld's wealth now--Nay, nae mair than the great Jarls and Sea-kings, in the Norse days, did about the treasures that they buried in the tombs and sepulchres auld langsyne. Did I ever tell you the sang, Maister Mordaunt, how Olaf Tryguarson garr'd hide five gold crowns in the same grave with him?" "No, Swertha," said Mordaunt, who took pleasure in tormenting the cunning old plunderer--"you never told me that; but I tell you, that the stranger whom Norna has taken down to the town, will be well enough to-morrow, to ask where you have hidden the goods that you have stolen from the wreck." "But wha will tell him a word about it, hinnie?" said Swertha, looking slyly up in her young master's face--"The mair by token, since I maun tell ye, that I have a bonny remnant of silk amang the lave, that will make a dainty waistcoat to yoursell, the first merry-making ye gang to." Mordaunt could no longer forbear laughing at the cunning with which the old dame proposed to bribe off his evidence by imparting a portion of her plunder; and, desiring her to get ready what provision she had made for dinner, he returned to his father, whom he found still sitting in the same place, and nearly in the same posture, in which he had left him. When their hasty and frugal meal was finished, Mordaunt announced to his father his purpose of going down to the town, or hamlet, to look after the shipwrecked sailor. The elder Mertoun assented with a nod. "He must be ill accommodated there, sir," added his son,--a hint which only produced another nod of assent. "He seemed, from his appearance," pursued Mordaunt, "to be of very good rank--and admitting these poor people do their best to receive him, in his present weak state, yet"---- "I know what you would say," said his father, interrupting him; "we, you think, ought to do something towards assisting him. Go to him, then--if he lacks money, let him name the sum, and he shall have it; but, for lodging the stranger here, and holding intercourse with him, I neither can, nor will do so. I have retired to this farthest extremity of the British isles, to avoid new friends, and new faces, and none such shall intrude on me either their happiness or their misery. When you have known the world half a score of years longer, your early friends will have given you reason to remember them, and to avoid new ones for the rest of your life. Go then--why do you stop?--rid the country of the man--let me see no one about me but those vulgar countenances, the extent and character of whose petty knavery I know, and can submit to, as to an evil too trifling to cause irritation." He then threw his purse to his son, and signed to him to depart with all speed. Mordaunt was not long before he reached the village. In the dark abode of Neil Ronaldson, the Ranzelman, he found the stranger seated by the peat-fire, upon the very chest which had excited the cupidity of the devout Bryce Snailsfoot, the pedlar. The Ranzelman himself was absent, dividing, with all due impartiality, the spoils of the wrecked vessel amongst the natives of the community; listening to and redressing their complaints of inequality; and (if the matter in hand had not been, from beginning to end, utterly unjust and indefensible) discharging the part of a wise and prudent magistrate, in all the details. For at this time, and probably until a much later period, the lower orders of the islanders entertained an opinion, common to barbarians also in the same situation, that whatever was cast on their shores, became their indisputable property. Margery Bimbister, the worthy spouse of the Ranzelman, was in the charge of the house, and introduced Mordaunt to her guest, saying, with no great ceremony, "This is the young tacksman--You will maybe tell him your name, though you will not tell it to us. If it had not been for his four quarters, it's but little you would have said to any body, sae lang as life lasted." The stranger arose, and shook Mordaunt by the hand; observing, he understood that he had been the means of saving his life and his chest. "The rest of the property," he said, "is, I see, walking the plank; for they are as busy as the devil in a gale of wind." "And what was the use of your seamanship, then," said Margery, "that you couldna keep off the Sumburgh-head? It would have been lang ere Sumburgh-head had come to you." "Leave us for a moment, good Margery Bimbister," said Mordaunt; "I wish to have some private conversation with this gentleman." "Gentleman!" said Margery, with an emphasis; "not but the man is well enough to look at," she added, again surveying him, "but I doubt if there is muckle of the gentleman about him." Mordaunt looked at the stranger, and was of a different opinion. He was rather above the middle size, and formed handsomely as well as strongly. Mordaunt's intercourse with society was not extensive; but he thought his new acquaintance, to a bold sunburnt handsome countenance, which seemed to have faced various climates, added the frank and open manners of a sailor. He answered cheerfully the enquiries which Mordaunt made after his health; and maintained that one night's rest would relieve him from all the effects of the disaster he had sustained. But he spoke with bitterness of the avarice and curiosity of the Ranzelman and his spouse. "That chattering old woman," said the stranger, "has persecuted me the whole day for the name of the ship. I think she might be contented with the share she has had of it. I was the principal owner of the vessel that was lost yonder, and they have left me nothing but my wearing apparel. Is there no magistrate, or justice of the peace, in this wild country, that would lend a hand to help one when he is among the breakers?" Mordaunt mentioned Magnus Troil, the principal proprietor, as well as the Fowd, or provincial judge, of the district, as the person from whom he was most likely to obtain redress; and regretted that his own youth, and his father's situation as a retired stranger, should put it out of their power to afford him the protection he required. "Nay, for your part, you have done enough," said the sailor; "but if I had five out of the forty brave fellows that are fishes' food by this time, the devil a man would I ask to do me the right that I could do for myself!" "Forty hands!" said Mordaunt; "you were well manned for the size of the ship." "Not so well as we needed to be. We mounted ten guns, besides chasers; but our cruise on the main had thinned us of men, and lumbered us up with goods. Six of our guns were in ballast--Hands! if I had had enough of hands, we would never have miscarried so infernally. The people were knocked up with working the pumps, and so took to their boats, and left me with the vessel, to sink or swim. But the dogs had their pay, and I can afford to pardon them--The boat swamped in the current--all were lost--and here am I." "You had come north about then, from the West Indies?" said Mordaunt. "Ay, ay; the vessel was the Good Hope of Bristol, a letter of marque. She had fine luck down on the Spanish main, both with commerce and privateering, but the luck's ended with her now. My name is Clement Cleveland, captain, and part owner, as I said before--I am a Bristol man born--my father was well known on the Tollsell--old Clem Cleveland of the College-green." Mordaunt had no right to enquire farther, and yet it seemed to him as if his own mind was but half satisfied. There was an affectation of bluntness, a sort of defiance, in the manner of the stranger, for which circumstances afforded no occasion. Captain Cleveland had suffered injustice from the islanders, but from Mordaunt he had only received kindness and protection; yet he seemed as if he involved all the neighbourhood in the wrongs he complained of. Mordaunt looked down and was silent, doubting whether it would be better to take his leave, or to proceed farther in his offers of assistance. Cleveland seemed to guess at his thoughts, for he immediately added, in a conciliating manner,--"I am a plain man, Master Mertoun, for that I understand is your name; and I am a ruined man to boot, and that does not mend one's good manners. But you have done a kind and friendly part by me, and it may be I think as much of it as if I thanked you more. And so before I leave this place, I'll give you my fowlingpiece; she will put a hundred swan-shot through a Dutchman's cap at eighty paces--she will carry ball too--I have hit a wild bull within a hundred-and-fifty yards--but I have two pieces that are as good, or better, so you may keep this for my sake." "That would be to take my share of the wreck," answered Mordaunt, laughing. "No such matter," said Cleveland, undoing a case which contained several guns and pistols,--"you see I have saved my private arm-chest, as well as my clothes--_that_ the tall old woman in the dark rigging managed for me. And, between ourselves, it is worth all I have lost; for," he added, lowering his voice, and looking round, "when I speak of being ruined in the hearing of these landsharks, I do not mean ruined stock and block. No, here is something will do more than shoot sea-fowl." So saying, he pulled out a great ammunition-pouch marked swan-shot, and showed Mordaunt, hastily, that it was full of Spanish pistoles and Portagues (as the broad Portugal pieces were then called.) "No, no," he added, with a smile, "I have ballast enough to trim the vessel again; and now, will you take the piece?" "Since you are willing to give it me," said Mordaunt, laughing, "with all my heart. I was just going to ask you in my father's name," he added, showing his purse, "whether you wanted any of that same ballast." "Thanks, but you see I am provided--take my old acquaintance, and may she serve you as well as she has served me; but you will never make so good a voyage with her. You can shoot, I suppose?" "Tolerably well," said Mordaunt, admiring the piece, which was a beautiful Spanish-barrelled gun, inlaid with gold, small in the bore, and of unusual length, such as is chiefly used for shooting sea-fowl, and for ball-practice. "With slugs," continued the donor, "never gun shot closer; and with single ball, you may kill a seal two hundred yards at sea from the top of the highest peak of this iron-bound coast of yours. But I tell you again, that the old rattler will never do you the service she has done me." "I shall not use her so dexterously, perhaps," said Mordaunt. "Umph!--perhaps not," replied Cleveland; "but that is not the question. What say you to shooting the man at the wheel, just as we run aboard of a Spaniard? So the Don was taken aback, and we laid him athwart the hawse, and carried her cutlass in hand; and worth the while she was--stout brigantine--El Santo Francisco--bound for Porto Bello, with gold and negroes. That little bit of lead was worth twenty thousand pistoles." "I have shot at no such game as yet," said Mordaunt. "Well, all in good time; we cannot weigh till the tide makes. But you are a tight, handsome, active young man. What is to ail you to take a trip after some of this stuff?" laying his hand on the bag of gold. "My father talks of my travelling soon," replied Mordaunt, who, born to hold men-of-wars-men in great respect, felt flattered by this invitation from one who appeared a thorough-bred seaman. "I respect him for the thought," said the Captain; "and I will visit him before I weigh anchor. I have a consort off these islands, and be cursed to her. She'll find me out somewhere, though she parted company in the bit of a squall, unless she is gone to Davy Jones too.--Well, she was better found than we, and not so deep loaded--she must have weathered it. We'll have a hammock slung for you aboard, and make a sailor and a man of you in the same trip." "I should like it well enough," said Mordaunt, who eagerly longed to see more of the world than his lonely situation had hitherto permitted; "but then my father must decide." "Your father? pooh!" said Captain Cleveland;--"but you are very right," he added, checking himself; "Gad, I have lived so long at sea, that I cannot imagine any body has a right to think except the captain and the master. But you are very right. I will go up to the old gentleman this instant, and speak to him myself. He lives in that handsome, modern-looking building, I suppose, that I see a quarter of a mile off?" "In that old half-ruined house," said Mordaunt, "he does indeed live; but he will see no visitors." "Then you must drive the point yourself, for I can't stay in this latitude. Since your father is no magistrate, I must go to see this same Magnus--how call you him?--who is not justice of peace, but something else that will do the turn as well. These fellows have got two or three things that I must and will have back--let them keep the rest and be d----d to them. Will you give me a letter to him, just by way of commission?" "It is scarce needful," said Mordaunt. "It is enough that you are shipwrecked, and need his help;--but yet I may as well furnish you with a letter of introduction." "There," said the sailor, producing a writing-case from his chest, "are your writing-tools.--Meantime, since bulk has been broken, I will nail down the hatches, and make sure of the cargo." While Mordaunt, accordingly, was engaged in writing to Magnus Troil a letter, setting forth the circumstances in which Captain Cleveland had been thrown upon their coast, the Captain, having first selected and laid aside some wearing apparel and necessaries enough to fill a knapsack, took in hand hammer and nails, employed himself in securing the lid of his sea-chest, by fastening it down in a workmanlike manner, and then added the corroborating security of a cord, twisted and knotted with nautical dexterity. "I leave this in your charge," he said, "all except this," showing the bag of gold, "and these," pointing to a cutlass and pistols, "which may prevent all further risk of my parting company with my Portagues." "You will find no occasion for weapons in this country, Captain Cleveland," replied Mordaunt; "a child might travel with a purse of gold from Sumburgh-head to the Scaw of Unst, and no soul would injure him." "And that's pretty boldly said, young gentleman, considering what is going on without doors at this moment." "O," replied Mordaunt, a little confused, "what comes on land with the tide, they reckon their lawful property. One would think they had studied under Sir Arthegal, who pronounces-- 'For equal right in equal things doth stand, And what the mighty sea hath once possess'd, And plucked quite from all possessors' hands, Or else by wrecks that wretches have distress'd, He may dispose, by his resistless might, As things at random left, to whom he list.'" "I shall think the better of plays and ballads as long as I live, for these very words," said Captain Cleveland; "and yet I have loved them well enough in my day. But this is good doctrine, and more men than one may trim their sails to such a breeze. What the sea sends is ours, that's sure enough. However, in case that your good folks should think the land as well as the sea may present them with waiffs and strays, I will make bold to take my cutlass and pistols.--Will you cause my chest to be secured in your own house till you hear from me, and use your influence to procure me a guide to show me the way, and to carry my kit?" "Will you go by sea or land?" said Mordaunt, in reply. "By sea!" exclaimed Cleveland. "What--in one of these cockleshells, and a cracked cockleshell, to boot? No, no--land, land, unless I knew my crew, my vessel, and my voyage." They parted accordingly, Captain Cleveland being supplied with a guide to conduct him to Burgh-Westra, and his chest being carefully removed to the mansion-house at Jarlshof. FOOTNOTES: [33] This was literally true. CHAPTER IX. This is a gentle trader, and a prudent. He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye, With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomeness; But seasons all his glittering merchandise With wholesome doctrines, suited to the use, As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. _Old Play._ On the subsequent morning, Mordaunt, in answer to his father's enquiries, began to give him some account of the shipwrecked mariner, whom he had rescued from the waves. But he had not proceeded far in recapitulating the particulars which Cleveland had communicated, when Mr. Mertoun's looks became disturbed--he arose hastily, and, after pacing twice or thrice across the room, he retired into the inner chamber, to which he usually confined himself, while under the influence of his mental malady. In the evening he re-appeared, without any traces of his disorder; but it may be easily supposed that his son avoided recurring to the subject which had affected him. Mordaunt Mertoun was thus left without assistance, to form at his leisure his own opinion respecting the new acquaintance which the sea had sent him; and, upon the whole, he was himself surprised to find the result less favourable to the stranger than he could well account for. There seemed to Mordaunt to be a sort of repelling influence about the man. True, he was a handsome man, of a frank and prepossessing manner, but there was an assumption of superiority about him, which Mordaunt did not quite so much like. Although he was so keen a sportsman as to be delighted with his acquisition of the Spanish-barrelled gun, and accordingly mounted and dismounted it with great interest, paying the utmost attention to the most minute parts about the lock and ornaments, yet he was, upon the whole, inclined to have some scruples about the mode in which he had acquired it. "I should not have accepted it," he thought; "perhaps Captain Cleveland might give it me as a sort of payment for the trifling service I did him; and yet it would have been churlish to refuse it in the way it was offered. I wish he had looked more like a man whom one would have chosen to be obliged to." But a successful day's shooting reconciled him to his gun, and he became assured, like most young sportsmen in similar circumstances, that all other pieces were but pop-guns in comparison. But then, to be doomed to shoot gulls and seals, when there were Frenchmen and Spaniards to be come at--when there were ships to be boarded, and steersmen to be marked off, seemed but a dull and contemptible destiny. His father had mentioned his leaving these islands, and no other mode of occupation occurred to his inexperience, save that of the sea, with which he had been conversant from his infancy. His ambition had formerly aimed no higher than at sharing the fatigues and dangers of a Greenland fishing expedition; for it was in that scene that the Zetlanders laid most of their perilous adventures. But war was again raging, the history of Sir Francis Drake, Captain Morgan, and other bold adventurers, an account of whose exploits he had purchased from Bryce Snailsfoot, had made much impression on his mind, and the offer of Captain Cleveland to take him to sea, frequently recurred to him, although the pleasure of such a project was somewhat damped by a doubt, whether, in the long run, he should not find many objections to his proposed commander. Thus much he already saw, that he was opinionative, and might probably prove arbitrary; and that, since even his kindness was mingled with an assumption of superiority, his occasional displeasure might contain a great deal more of that disagreeable ingredient than could be palatable to those who sailed under him. And yet, after counting all risks, could his father's consent be obtained, with what pleasure, he thought, would he embark in quest of new scenes and strange adventures, in which he proposed to himself to achieve such deeds as should be the theme of many a tale to the lovely sisters of Burgh-Westra--tales at which Minna should weep, and Brenda should smile, and both should marvel! And this was to be the reward of his labours and his dangers; for the hearth of Magnus Troil had a magnetic influence over his thoughts, and however they might traverse amid his day-dreams, it was the point where they finally settled. There were times when Mordaunt thought of mentioning to his father the conversation he had held with Captain Cleveland, and the seaman's proposal to him; but the very short and general account which he had given of that person's history, upon the morning after his departure from the hamlet, had produced a sinister effect on Mr. Mertoun's mind, and discouraged him from speaking farther on any subject connected with it. It would be time enough, he thought, to mention Captain Cleveland's proposal, when his consort should arrive, and when he should repeat his offer in a more formal manner; and these he supposed events likely very soon to happen. But days grew to weeks, and weeks were numbered into months, and he heard nothing from Cleveland; and only learned by an occasional visit from Bryce Snailsfoot, that the Captain was residing at Burgh-Westra, as one of the family. Mordaunt was somewhat surprised at this, although the unlimited hospitality of the islands, which Magnus Troil, both from fortune and disposition, carried to the utmost extent, made it almost a matter of course that he should remain in the family until he disposed of himself otherwise. Still it seemed strange he had not gone to some of the northern isles to enquire after his consort; or that he did not rather choose to make Lerwick his residence, where fishing vessels often brought news from the coasts and ports of Scotland and Holland. Again, why did he not send for the chest he had deposited at Jarlshof? and still farther, Mordaunt thought it would have been but polite if the stranger had sent him some sort of message in token of remembrance. These subjects of reflection were connected with another still more unpleasant, and more difficult to account for. Until the arrival of this person, scarce a week had passed without bringing him some kind greeting, or token of recollection, from Burgh-Westra; and pretences were scarce ever wanting for maintaining a constant intercourse. Minna wanted the words of a Norse ballad; or desired to have, for her various collections, feathers, or eggs, or shells, or specimens of the rarer sea-weeds; or Brenda sent a riddle to be resolved, or a song to be learned; or the honest old Udaller,--in a rude manuscript, which might have passed for an ancient Runic inscription,--sent his hearty greetings to his good young friend, with a present of something to make good cheer, and an earnest request he would come to Burgh-Westra as soon, and stay there as long, as possible. These kindly tokens of remembrance were often sent by special message; besides which, there was never a passenger or a traveller, who crossed from the one mansion to the other, who did not bring to Mordaunt some friendly greeting from the Udaller and his family. Of late, this intercourse had become more and more infrequent; and no messenger from Burgh-Westra had visited Jarlshof for several weeks. Mordaunt both observed and felt this alteration, and it dwelt on his mind, while he questioned Bryce as closely as pride and prudence would permit, to ascertain, if possible, the cause of the change. Yet he endeavoured to assume an indifferent air while he asked the jagger whether there were no news in the country. "Great news," the jagger replied; "and a gay mony of them. That crackbrained carle, the new factor, is for making a change in the _bismars_ and the _lispunds_;[34] and our worthy Fowd, Magnus Troil, has sworn, that, sooner than change them for the still-yard, or aught else, he'll fling Factor Yellowley from Brassa-craig." "Is that all?" said Mordaunt, very little interested. "All? and eneugh, I think," replied the pedlar. "How are folks to buy and sell, if the weights are changed on them?" "Very true," replied Mordaunt; "but have you heard of no strange vessels on the coast?" "Six Dutch doggers off Brassa; and, as I hear, a high-quartered galliot thing, with a gaff mainsail, lying in Scalloway Bay. She will be from Norway." "No ships of war, or sloops?" "None," replied the pedlar, "since the Kite Tender sailed with the impress men. If it was His will, and our men were out of her, I wish the deep sea had her!" "Were there no news at Burgh-Westra?--Were the family all well?" "A' weel, and weel to do--out-taken, it may be, something ower muckle daffing and laughing--dancing ilk night, they say, wi' the stranger captain that's living there--him that was ashore on Sumburgh-head the tother day,--less daffing served him then." "Daffing! dancing every night!" said Mordaunt, not particularly well satisfied--"Whom does Captain Cleveland dance with?" "Ony body he likes, I fancy," said the jagger; "at ony rate, he gars a' body yonder dance after his fiddle. But I ken little about it, for I am no free in conscience to look upon thae flinging fancies. Folk should mind that life is made but of rotten yarn." "I fancy that it is to keep them in mind of that wholesome truth, that you deal in such tender wares, Bryce," replied Mordaunt, dissatisfied as well with the tenor of the reply, as with the affected scruples of the respondent. "That's as muckle as to say, that I suld hae minded you was a flinger and a fiddler yoursell, Maister Mordaunt; but I am an auld man, and maun unburden my conscience. But ye will be for the dance, I sall warrant, that's to be at Burgh-Westra, on John's Even, (_Saunt_ John's, as the blinded creatures ca' him,) and nae doubt ye will be for some warldly braws--hose, waistcoats, or sic like? I hae pieces frae Flanders."--With that he placed his movable warehouse on the table, and began to unlock it. "Dance!" repeated Mordaunt--"Dance on St. John's Even?--Were you desired to bid me to it, Bryce?" "Na--but ye ken weel eneugh ye wad be welcome, bidden or no bidden. This captain--how ca' ye him?--is to be skudler, as they ca't--the first of the gang, like." "The devil take him!" said Mordaunt, in impatient surprise. "A' in gude time," replied the jagger; "hurry no man's cattle--the devil will hae his due, I warrant ye, or it winna be for lack of seeking. But it's true I'm telling you, for a' ye stare like a wild-cat; and this same captain,--I watna his name,--bought ane of the very waistcoats that I am ganging to show ye--purple, wi' a gowd binding, and bonnily broidered; and I have a piece for you, the neighbour of it, wi' a green grund; and if ye mean to streek yoursell up beside him, ye maun e'en buy it, for it's gowd that glances in the lasses' een now-a-days. See--look till't," he added, displaying the pattern in various points of view; "look till _it_ through the light, and till the light through _it_--_wi'_ the grain, and _against_ the grain--it shows ony gate--cam frae Antwerp a' the gate--four dollars is the price; and yon captain was sae weel pleased that he flang down a twenty shilling Jacobus, and bade me keep the change and be d----d!--poor silly profane creature, I pity him." Without enquiring whether the pedlar bestowed his compassion on the worldly imprudence or the religious deficiencies of Captain Cleveland, Mordaunt turned from him, folded his arms, and paced the apartment, muttering to himself, "Not asked--A stranger to be king of the feast!"--Words which he repeated so earnestly, that Bryce caught a part of their import. "As for asking, I am almaist bauld to say, that ye will be asked, Maister Mordaunt." "Did they mention my name, then?" said Mordaunt. "I canna preceesely say that," said Bryce Snailsfoot;--"but ye needna turn away your head sae sourly, like a sealgh when he leaves the shore; for, do you see, I heard distinctly that a' the revellers about are to be there; and is't to be thought they would leave out you, an auld kend freend, and the lightest foot at sic frolics (Heaven send you a better praise in His ain gude time!) that ever flang at a fiddle-squeak, between this and Unst? Sae I consider ye altogether the same as invited--and ye had best provide yourself wi' a waistcoat, for brave and brisk will every man be that's there--the Lord pity them!" He thus continued to follow with his green glazen eyes the motions of young Mordaunt Mertoun, who was pacing the room in a very pensive manner, which the jagger probably misinterpreted, as he thought, like Claudio, that if a man is sad, it must needs be because he lacks money. Bryce, therefore, after another pause, thus accosted him. "Ye needna be sad about the matter, Maister Mordaunt; for although I got the just price of the article from the captain-man, yet I maun deal freendly wi' you, as a kend freend and customer, and bring the price, as they say, within your purse-mouth--or it's the same to me to let it lie ower till Martinmas, or e'en to Candlemas. I am decent in the warld, Maister Mordaunt--forbid that I should hurry ony body, far mair a freend that has paid me siller afore now. Or I wad be content to swap the garment for the value in feathers or sea-otters' skins, or ony kind of peltrie--nane kens better than yoursell how to come by sic ware--and I am sure I hae furnished you wi' the primest o' powder. I dinna ken if I tell'd ye it was out o' the kist of Captain Plunket, that perished on the Scaw of Unst, wi' the armed brig Mary, sax years syne. He was a prime fowler himself, and luck it was that the kist came ashore dry. I sell that to nane but gude marksmen. And so, I was saying, if ye had ony wares ye liked to coup[35] for the waistcoat, I wad be ready to trock wi' you, for assuredly ye will be wanted at Burgh-Westra, on Saint John's Even; and ye wadna like to look waur than the Captain--that wadna be setting." "I will be there at least, whether wanted or not," said Mordaunt, stopping short in his walk, and taking the waistcoat-piece hastily out of the pedlar's hand; "and, as you say, will not disgrace them." "Haud a care--haud a care, Maister Mordaunt," exclaimed the pedlar; "ye handle it as it were a bale of coarse wadmaal--ye'll fray't to bits--ye might weel say my ware is tender--and ye'll mind the price is four dollars--Sall I put ye in my book for it?" "No," said Mordaunt, hastily; and, taking out his purse, he flung down the money. "Grace to ye to wear the garment," said the joyous pedlar, "and to me to guide the siller; and protect us from earthly vanities, and earthly covetousness; and send you the white linen raiment, whilk is mair to be desired than the muslins, and cambrics, and lawns, and silks of this world; and send me the talents which avail more than much fine Spanish gold, or Dutch dollars either--and--but God guide the callant, what for is he wrapping the silk up that gate, like a wisp of hay?" At this moment, old Swertha the housekeeper entered, to whom, as if eager to get rid of the subject, Mordaunt threw his purchase, with something like careless disdain; and, telling her to put it aside, snatched his gun, which stood in the corner, threw his shooting accoutrements about him, and, without noticing Bryce's attempt to enter into conversation upon the "braw seal-skin, as saft as doe-leather," which made the sling and cover of his fowlingpiece, he left the apartment abruptly. The jagger, with those green, goggling, and gain-descrying kind of optics, which we have already described, continued gazing for an instant after the customer, who treated his wares with such irreverence. Swertha also looked after him with some surprise. "The callant's in a creel," quoth she. "In a creel!" echoed the pedlar; "he will be as wowf as ever his father was. To guide in that gate a bargain that cost him four dollars!--very, very Fifish, as the east-country fisher-folk say." "Four dollars for that green rag!" said Swertha, catching at the words which the jagger had unwarily suffered to escape--"that was a bargain indeed! I wonder whether he is the greater fule, or you the mair rogue, Bryce Snailsfoot." "I didna say it cost him preceesely four dollars," said Snailsfoot; "but if it had, the lad's siller's his ain, I hope; and he is auld eneugh to make his ain bargains. Mair by token the gudes are weel worth the money, and mair." "Mair by token," said Swertha, coolly, "I will see what his father thinks about it." "Ye'll no be sae ill-natured, Mrs. Swertha," said the jagger; "that will be but cauld thanks for the bonny owerlay that I hae brought you a' the way frae Lerwick." "And a bonny price ye'll be setting on't," said Swertha; "for that's the gate your good deeds end." "Ye sall hae the fixing of the price yoursell; or it may lie ower till ye're buying something for the house, or for your master, and it can make a' ae count." "Troth, and that's true, Bryce Snailsfoot, I am thinking we'll want some napery sune--for it's no to be thought we can spin, and the like, as if there was a mistress in the house; and sae we make nane at hame." "And that's what I ca' walking by the word," said the jagger. "'Go unto those that buy and sell;' there's muckle profit in that text." "There is a pleasure in dealing wi' a discreet man, that can make profit of ony thing," said Swertha; "and now that I take another look at that daft callant's waistcoat piece, I think it _is_ honestly worth four dollars." FOOTNOTES: [34] These are weights of Norwegian origin, still used in Zetland. [35] Barter. CHAPTER X. I have possessed the regulation of the weather and the distribution of the seasons. The sun has listened to my dictates, and passed from tropic to tropic by my direction; the clouds, at my command, have poured forth their waters. RASSELAS. Any sudden cause for anxious and mortifying reflection, which, in advanced age, occasions sullen and pensive inactivity, stimulates youth to eager and active exertion; as if, like the hurt deer, they endeavoured to drown the pain of the shaft by the rapidity of motion. When Mordaunt caught up his gun, and rushed out of the house of Jarlshof, he walked on with great activity over waste and wild, without any determined purpose, except that of escaping, if possible, from the smart of his own irritation. His pride was effectually mortified by the report of the jagger, which coincided exactly with some doubts he had been led to entertain, by the long and unkind silence of his friends at Burgh-Westra. If the fortunes of Cæsar had doomed him, as the poet suggests, to have been "But the best wrestler on the green," it is nevertheless to be presumed, that a foil from a rival, in that rustic exercise, would have mortified him as much as a defeat from a competitor, when he was struggling for the empery of the world. And even so Mordaunt Mertoun, degraded in his own eyes from the height which he had occupied as the chief amongst the youth of the island, felt vexed and irritated, as well as humbled. The two beautiful sisters, also, whose smiles all were so desirous of acquiring, with whom he had lived on terms of such familiar affection, that, with the same ease and innocence, there was unconsciously mixed a shade of deeper though undefined tenderness than characterises fraternal love,--they also seemed to have forgotten him. He could not be ignorant, that, in the universal opinion of all Dunrossness, nay, of the whole Mainland, he might have had every chance of being the favoured lover of either; and now at once, and without any failure on his part, he was become so little to them, that he had lost even the consequence of an ordinary acquaintance. The old Udaller, too, whose hearty and sincere character should have made him more constant in his friendships, seemed to have been as fickle as his daughters, and poor Mordaunt had at once lost the smiles of the fair, and the favour of the powerful. These were uncomfortable reflections, and he doubled his pace, that he might outstrip them if possible. Without exactly reflecting upon the route which he pursued, Mordaunt walked briskly on through a country where neither hedge, wall, nor enclosure of any kind, interrupts the steps of the wanderer, until he reached a very solitary spot, where, embosomed among steep heathy hills, which sunk suddenly down on the verge of the water, lay one of those small fresh-water lakes which are common in the Zetland isles, whose outlets form the sources of the small brooks and rivulets by which the country is watered, and serve to drive the little mills which manufacture their grain. It was a mild summer day; the beams of the sun, as is not uncommon in Zetland, were moderated and shaded by a silvery haze, which filled the atmosphere, and destroying the strong contrast of light and shade, gave even to noon the sober livery of the evening twilight. The little lake, not three-quarters of a mile in circuit, lay in profound quiet; its surface undimpled, save when one of the numerous water-fowl, which glided on its surface, dived for an instant under it. The depth of the water gave the whole that cerulean tint of bluish green, which occasioned its being called the Green Loch; and at present, it formed so perfect a mirror to the bleak hills by which it was surrounded, and which lay reflected on its bosom, that it was difficult to distinguish the water from the land; nay, in the shadowy uncertainty occasioned by the thin haze, a stranger could scarce have been sensible that a sheet of water lay before him. A scene of more complete solitude, having all its peculiarities heightened by the extreme serenity of the weather, the quiet grey composed tone of the atmosphere, and the perfect silence of the elements, could hardly be imagined. The very aquatic birds, who frequented the spot in great numbers, forbore their usual flight and screams, and floated in profound tranquillity upon the silent water. Without taking any determined aim--without having any determined purpose--without almost thinking what he was about, Mordaunt presented his fowlingpiece, and fired across the lake. The large swan shot dimpled its surface like a partial shower of hail--the hills took up the noise of the report, and repeated it again, and again, and again, to all their echoes; the water-fowl took to wing in eddying and confused wheel, answering the echoes with a thousand varying screams, from the deep note of the swabie, or swartback, to the querulous cry of the tirracke and kittiewake. Mordaunt looked for a moment on the clamorous crowd with a feeling of resentment, which he felt disposed at the moment to apply to all nature, and all her objects, animate or inanimate, however little concerned with the cause of his internal mortification. "Ay, ay," he said, "wheel, dive, scream, and clamour as you will, and all because you have seen a strange sight, and heard an unusual sound. There is many a one like you in this round world. But you, at least, shall learn," he added, as he reloaded his gun, "that strange sights and strange sounds, ay, and strange acquaintances to boot, have sometimes a little shade of danger connected with them.--But why should I wreak my own vexation on these harmless sea-gulls?" he subjoined, after a moment's pause; "they have nothing to do with the friends that have forgotten me.--I loved them all so well,--and to be so soon given up for the first stranger whom chance threw on the coast!" As he stood resting upon his gun, and abandoning his mind to the course of these unpleasant reflections, his meditations were unexpectedly interrupted by some one touching his shoulder. He looked around, and saw Norna of the Fitful-head, wrapped in her dark and ample mantle. She had seen him from the brow of the hill, and had descended to the lake, through a small ravine which concealed her, until she came with noiseless step so close to him that he turned round at her touch. Mordaunt Mertoun was by nature neither timorous nor credulous, and a course of reading more extensive than usual had, in some degree, fortified his mind against the attacks of superstition; but he would have been an actual prodigy, if, living in Zetland in the end of the seventeenth century, he had possessed the philosophy which did not exist in Scotland generally, until at least two generations later. He doubted in his own mind the extent, nay, the very existence, of Norna's supernatural attributes, which was a high flight of incredulity in the country where they were universally received; but still his incredulity went no farther than doubts. She was unquestionably an extraordinary woman, gifted with an energy above others, acting upon motives peculiar to herself, and apparently independent of mere earthly considerations. Impressed with these ideas, which he had imbibed from his youth, it was not without something like alarm, that he beheld this mysterious female standing on a sudden so close beside him, and looking upon him with such sad and severe eyes, as those with which the Fatal Virgins, who, according to northern mythology, were called the _Valkyriur_, or "Choosers of the Slain," were supposed to regard the young champions whom they selected to share the banquet of Odin. It was, indeed, reckoned unlucky, to say the least, to meet with Norna suddenly alone, and in a place remote from witnesses; and she was supposed, on such occasions, to have been usually a prophetess of evil, as well as an omen of misfortune, to those who had such a rencontre. There were few or none of the islanders, however familiarized with her occasional appearance in society, that would not have trembled to meet her on the solitary banks of the Green Loch. "I bring you no evil, Mordaunt Mertoun," she said, reading perhaps something of this superstitious feeling in the looks of the young man. "Evil from me you never felt, and never will." "Nor do I fear any," said Mordaunt, exerting himself to throw aside an apprehension which he felt to be unmanly. "Why should I, mother? You have been ever my friend." "Yet, Mordaunt, thou art not of our region; but to none of Zetland blood, no, not even to those who sit around the hearth-stone of Magnus Troil, the noble descendants of the ancient Jarls of Orkney, am I more a well-wisher, than I am to thee, thou kind and brave-hearted boy. When I hung around thy neck that gifted chain, which all in our isles know was wrought by no earthly artist, but by the Drows,[36] in the secret recesses of their caverns, thou wert then but fifteen years old; yet thy foot had been on the Maiden-skerrie of Northmaven, known before but to the webbed sole of the swartback, and thy skiff had been in the deepest cavern of Brinnastir, where the _haaf-fish_[37] had before slumbered in dark obscurity. Therefore I gave thee that noble gift; and well thou knowest, that since that day, every eye in these isles has looked on thee as a son, or as a brother, endowed beyond other youths, and the favoured of those whose hour of power is when the night meets with the day." "Alas! mother," said Mordaunt, "your kind gift may have given me favour, but it has not been able to keep it for me, or I have not been able to keep it for myself.--What matters it? I shall learn to set as little by others as they do by me. My father says that I shall soon leave these islands, and therefore, Mother Norna, I will return to you your fairy gift, that it may bring more lasting luck to some other than it has done to me." "Despise not the gift of the nameless race," said Norna, frowning; then suddenly changing her tone of displeasure to that of mournful solemnity, she added,--"Despise them not, but, O Mordaunt, court them not! Sit down on that grey stone--thou art the son of my adoption, and I will doff, as far as I may, those attributes that sever me from the common mass of humanity, and speak with you as a parent with a child." There was a tremulous tone of grief which mingled with the loftiness of her language and carriage, and was calculated to excite sympathy, as well as to attract attention. Mordaunt sat down on the rock which she pointed out, a fragment which, with many others that lay scattered around, had been torn by some winter storm from the precipice at the foot of which it lay, upon the very verge of the water. Norna took her own seat on a stone at about three feet distance, adjusted her mantle so that little more than her forehead, her eyes, and a single lock of her grey hair, were seen from beneath the shade of her dark wadmaal cloak, and then proceeded in a tone in which the imaginary consequence and importance so often assumed by lunacy, seemed to contend against the deep workings of some extraordinary and deeply-rooted mental affliction. "I was not always," she said, "that which I now am. I was not always the wise, the powerful, the commanding, before whom the young stand abashed, and the old uncover their grey heads. There was a time when my appearance did not silence mirth, when I sympathized with human passion, and had my own share in human joy or sorrow. It was a time of helplessness--it was a time of folly--it was a time of idle and unfruitful laughter--it was a time of causeless and senseless tears;--and yet, with its follies, and its sorrows, and its weaknesses, what would Norna of Fitful-head give to be again the unmarked and happy maiden that she was in her early days! Hear me, Mordaunt, and bear with me; for you hear me utter complaints which have never sounded in mortal ears, and which in mortal ears shall never sound again. I will be what I ought," she continued, starting up and extending her lean and withered arm, "the queen and protectress of these wild and neglected isles,--I will be her whose foot the wave wets not, save by her permission; ay, even though its rage be at its wildest madness--whose robe the whirlwind respects, when it rends the house-rigging from the roof-tree. Bear me witness, Mordaunt Mertoun,--you heard my words at Harfra--you saw the tempest sink before them--Speak, bear me witness!" To have contradicted her in this strain of high-toned enthusiasm, would have been cruel and unavailing, even had Mordaunt been more decidedly convinced than he was, that an insane woman, not one of supernatural power, stood before him. "I heard you sing," he replied, "and I saw the tempest abate." "Abate?" exclaimed Norna, striking the ground impatiently with her staff of black oak; "thou speakest it but half--it sunk at once--sunk in shorter space than the child that is hushed to silence by the nurse.--Enough, you know my power--but you know not--mortal man knows not, and never shall know, the price which I paid to attain it. No, Mordaunt, never for the widest sway that the ancient Norsemen boasted, when their banners waved victorious from Bergen to Palestine--never, for all that the round world contains, do thou barter thy peace of mind for such greatness as Norna's." She resumed her seat upon the rock, drew the mantle over her face, rested her head upon her hands, and by the convulsive motion which agitated her bosom, appeared to be weeping bitterly. "Good Norna," said Mordaunt, and paused, scarce knowing what to say that might console the unhappy woman--"Good Norna," he again resumed, "if there be aught in your mind that troubles it, were you not best to go to the worthy minister at Dunrossness? Men say you have not for many years been in a Christian congregation--that cannot be well, or right. You are yourself well known as a healer of bodily disease; but when the mind is sick, we should draw to the Physician of our souls." Norna had raised her person slowly from the stooping posture in which she sat; but at length she started up on her feet, threw back her mantle, extended her arm, and while her lip foamed, and her eye sparkled, exclaimed in a tone resembling a scream,--"Me did you speak--me did you bid seek out a priest!--would you kill the good man with horror?--Me in a Christian congregation!--Would you have the roof to fall on the sackless assembly, and mingle their blood with their worship? I--I seek to the good Physician!--Would you have the fiend claim his prey openly before God and man?" The extreme agitation of the unhappy speaker naturally led Mordaunt to the conclusion, which was generally adopted and accredited in that superstitious country and period. "Wretched woman," he said, "if indeed thou hast leagued thyself with the Powers of Evil, why should you not seek even yet for repentance? But do as thou wilt, I cannot, dare not, as a Christian, abide longer with you; and take again your gift," he said, offering back the chain. "Good can never come of it, if indeed evil hath not come already." "Be still and hear me, thou foolish boy," said Norna, calmly, as if she had been restored to reason by the alarm and horror which she perceived in Mordaunt's countenance;--"hear me, I say. I am not of those who have leagued themselves with the Enemy of Mankind, or derive skill or power from his ministry. And although the unearthly powers _were_ propitiated by a sacrifice which human tongue can never utter, yet, God knows, my guilt in that offering was no more than that of the blind man who falls from the precipice which he could neither see nor shun. O, leave me not--shun me not--in this hour of weakness! Remain with me till the temptation be passed, or I will plunge myself into that lake, and rid myself at once of my power and my wretchedness!" Mordaunt, who had always looked up to this singular woman with a sort of affection, occasioned no doubt by the early kindness and distinction which she had shown to him, was readily induced to reassume his seat, and listen to what she had further to say, in hopes that she would gradually overcome the violence of her agitation. It was not long ere she seemed to have gained the victory her companion expected, for she addressed him in her usual steady and authoritative manner. "It was not of myself, Mordaunt, that I purposed to speak, when I beheld you from the summit of yonder grey rock, and came down the path to meet with you. My fortunes are fixed beyond change, be it for weal or for woe. For myself I have ceased to feel much; but for those whom she loves, Norna of the Fitful-head has still those feelings which link her to her kind. Mark me. There is an eagle, the noblest that builds in these airy precipices, and into that eagle's nest there has crept an adder--wilt thou lend thy aid to crush the reptile, and to save the noble brood of the lord of the north sky?" "You must speak more plainly, Norna," said Mordaunt, "if you would have me understand or answer you. I am no guesser of riddles." "In plain language, then, you know well the family of Burgh-Westra--the lovely daughters of the generous old Udaller, Magnus Troil,--Minna and Brenda, I mean? You know them, and you love them?" "I have known them, mother," replied Mordaunt, "and I have loved them--none knows it better than yourself." "To know them once," said Norna, emphatically, "is to know them always. To love them once, is to love them for ever." "To have loved them once, is to wish them well for ever," replied the youth; "but it is nothing more. To be plain with you, Norna, the family at Burgh-Westra have of late totally neglected me. But show me the means of serving them, I will convince you how much I have remembered old kindness, how little I resent late coldness." "It is well spoken, and I will put your purpose to the proof," replied Norna. "Magnus Troil has taken a serpent into his bosom--his lovely daughters are delivered up to the machinations of a villain." "You mean the stranger, Cleveland?" said Mordaunt. "The stranger who so calls himself," replied Norna--"the same whom we found flung ashore, like a waste heap of sea-weed, at the foot of the Sumburgh-cape. I felt that within me, that would have prompted me to let him lie till the tide floated him off, as it had floated him on shore. I repent me I gave not way to it." "But," said Mordaunt, "I cannot repent that I did my duty as a Christian man. And what right have I to wish otherwise? If Minna, Brenda, Magnus, and the rest, like that stranger better than me, I have no title to be offended; nay, I might well be laughed at for bringing myself into comparison." "It is well, and I trust they merit thy unselfish friendship." "But I cannot perceive," said Mordaunt, "in what you can propose that I should serve them. I have but just learned by Bryce the jagger, that this Captain Cleveland is all in all with the ladies at Burgh-Westra, and with the Udaller himself. I would like ill to intrude myself where I am not welcome, or to place my home-bred merit in comparison with Captain Cleveland's. He can tell them of battles, when I can only speak of birds' nests--can speak of shooting Frenchmen, when I can only tell of shooting seals--he wears gay clothes, and bears a brave countenance; I am plainly dressed, and plainly nurtured. Such gay gallants as he can noose the hearts of those he lives with, as the fowler nooses the guillemot with his rod and line." "You do wrong to yourself," replied Norna, "wrong to yourself, and greater wrong to Minna and Brenda. And trust not the reports of Bryce--he is like the greedy chaffer-whale, that will change his course and dive for the most petty coin which a fisher can cast at him. Certain it is, that if you have been lessened in the opinion of Magnus Troil, that sordid fellow hath had some share in it. But let him count his vantage, for my eye is upon him." "And why, mother," said Mordaunt, "do you not tell to Magnus what you have told to me?" "Because," replied Norna, "they who wax wise in their own conceit must be taught a bitter lesson by experience. It was but yesterday that I spoke with Magnus, and what was his reply?--'Good Norna, you grow old.' And this was spoken by one bounden to me by so many and such close ties--by the descendant of the ancient Norse earls--this was from Magnus Troil to me; and it was said in behalf of one, whom the sea flung forth as wreck-weed! Since he despises the counsel of the aged, he shall be taught by that of the young; and well that he is not left to his own folly. Go, therefore, to Burgh-Westra, as usual, upon the Baptist's festival." "I have had no invitation," said Mordaunt; "I am not wanted, not wished for, not thought of--perhaps I shall not be acknowledged if I go thither; and yet, mother, to confess the truth, thither I had thought to go." "It was a good thought, and to be cherished," replied Norna; "we seek our friends when they are sick in health, why not when they are sick in mind, and surfeited with prosperity? Do not fail to go--it may be, we shall meet there. Meanwhile our roads lie different. Farewell, and speak not of this meeting." They parted, and Mordaunt remained standing by the lake, with his eyes fixed on Norna, until her tall dark form became invisible among the windings of the valley down which she wandered, and Mordaunt returned to his father's mansion, determined to follow counsel which coincided so well with his own wishes. FOOTNOTES: [36] The Drows, or Trows, the legitimate successors of the northern _duergar_, and somewhat allied to the fairies, reside, like them, in the interior of green hills and caverns, and are most powerful at midnight. They are curious artificers in iron, as well as in the precious metals, and are sometimes propitious to mortals, but more frequently capricious and malevolent. Among the common people of Zetland, their existence still forms an article of universal belief. In the neighbouring isles of Feroe, they are called Foddenskencand, or subterranean people; and Lucas Jacobson Debes,(_h_) well acquainted with their nature, assures us that they inhabit those places which are polluted with the effusion of blood, or the practice of any crying sin. They have a government, which seems to be monarchical. [37] The larger seal, or sea-calf, which seeks the most solitary recesses for its abode. See Dr. EDMONSTONE'S _Zetland_, vol. ii., p. 294. CHAPTER XI. ----All your ancient customs, And long-descended usages, I'll change. Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do. Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation; The bride shall have the stock, the groom the wall; For all old practice will I turn and change, And call it reformation--marry will I! _'Tis Even that we're at Odds._ The festal day approached, and still no invitation arrived for that guest, without whom, but a little space since, no feast could have been held in the island; while, on the other hand, such reports as reached them on every side spoke highly of the favour which Captain Cleveland enjoyed in the good graces of the old Udaller of Burgh-Westra. Swertha and the Ranzelman shook their heads at these mutations, and reminded Mordaunt, by many a half-hint and innuendo, that he had incurred this eclipse by being so imprudently active to secure the safety of the stranger, when he lay at the mercy of the next wave beneath the cliffs of Sumburgh-head. "It is best to let saut water take its gate," said Swertha; "luck never came of crossing it." "In troth," said the Ranzelman, "they are wise folks that let wave and withy haud their ain--luck never came of a half-drowned man, or a half-hanged ane either. Who was't shot Will Paterson off the Noss?--the Dutchman that he saved from sinking, I trow. To fling a drowning man a plank or a tow, may be the part of a Christian; but I say, keep hands aff him, if ye wad live and thrive free frae his danger." "Ye are a wise man, Ranzelman, and a worthy," echoed Swertha, with a groan, "and ken how and whan to help a neighbour, as well as ony man that ever drew a net." "In troth, I have seen length of days," answered the Ranzelman, "and I have heard what the auld folk said to each other anent sic matters; and nae man in Zetland shall go farther than I will in any Christian service to a man on firm land; but if he cry 'Help!' out of the saut waves, that's another story." "And yet, to think of this lad Cleveland standing in our Maister Mordaunt's light," said Swertha, "and with Magnus Troil, that thought him the flower of the island but on Whitsunday last, and Magnus, too, that's both held (when he's fresh, honest man) the wisest and wealthiest of Zetland!" "He canna win by it," said the Ranzelman, with a look of the deepest sagacity. "There's whiles, Swertha, that the wisest of us (as I am sure I humbly confess mysell not to be) may be little better than gulls, and can no more win by doing deeds of folly than I can step over Sumburgh-head. It has been my own case once or twice in my life. But we shall see soon what ill is to come of all this, for good there cannot come." And Swertha answered, with the same tone of prophetic wisdom, "Na, na, gude can never come on it, and that is ower truly said." These doleful predictions, repeated from time to time, had some effect upon Mordaunt. He did not indeed suppose, that the charitable action of relieving a drowning man had subjected him, as a necessary and fatal consequence, to the unpleasant circumstances in which he was placed; yet he felt as if a sort of spell were drawn around him, of which he neither understood the nature nor the extent;--that some power, in short, beyond his own control, was acting upon his destiny, and, as it seemed, with no friendly influence. His curiosity, as well as his anxiety, was highly excited, and he continued determined, at all events, to make his appearance at the approaching festival, when he was impressed with the belief that something uncommon was necessarily to take place, which should determine his future views and prospects in life. As the elder Mertoun was at this time in his ordinary state of health, it became necessary that his son should intimate to him his intended visit to Burgh-Westra. He did so; and his father desired to know the especial reason of his going thither at this particular time. "It is a time of merry-making," replied the youth, "and all the country are assembled." "And you are doubtless impatient to add another fool to the number.--Go--but beware how you walk in the path which you are about to tread--a fall from the cliffs of Foulah were not more fatal." "May I ask the reason of your caution, sir?" replied Mordaunt, breaking through the reserve which ordinarily subsisted betwixt him and his singular parent. "Magnus Troil," said the elder Mertoun, "has two daughters--you are of the age when men look upon such gauds with eyes of affection, that they may afterwards learn to curse the day that first opened their eyes upon heaven! I bid you beware of them; for, as sure as that death and sin came into the world by woman, so sure are their soft words, and softer looks, the utter destruction and ruin of all who put faith in them." Mordaunt had sometimes observed his father's marked dislike to the female sex, but had never before heard him give vent to it in terms so determined and precise. He replied, that the daughters of Magnus Troil were no more to him than any other females in the islands; "they were even of less importance," he said, "for they had broken off their friendship with him, without assigning any cause." "And you go to seek the renewal of it?" answered his father. "Silly moth, that hast once escaped the taper without singeing thy wings, are you not contented with the safe obscurity of these wilds, but must hasten back to the flame, which is sure at length to consume thee? But why should I waste arguments in deterring thee from thy inevitable fate?--Go where thy destiny calls thee." On the succeeding day, which was the eve of the great festival, Mordaunt set forth on his road to Burgh-Westra, pondering alternately on the injunctions of Norna--on the ominous words of his father--on the inauspicious auguries of Swertha and the Ranzelman of Jarlshof--and not without experiencing that gloom with which so many concurring circumstances of ill omen combined to oppress his mind. "It bodes me but a cold reception at Burgh-Westra," said he; "but my stay shall be the shorter. I will but find out whether they have been deceived by this seafaring stranger, or whether they have acted out of pure caprice of temper, and love of change of company. If the first be the case, I will vindicate my character, and let Captain Cleveland look to himself;--if the latter, why, then, good-night to Burgh-Westra and all its inmates." As he mentally meditated this last alternative, hurt pride, and a return of fondness for those to whom he supposed he was bidding farewell for ever, brought a tear into his eye, which he dashed off hastily and indignantly, as, mending his pace, he continued on his journey. The weather being now serene and undisturbed, Mordaunt made his way with an ease that formed a striking contrast to the difficulties which he had encountered when he last travelled the same route; yet there was a less pleasing subject for comparison, within his own mind. "My breast," he said to himself, "was then against the wind, but my heart within was serene and happy. I would I had now the same careless feelings, were they to be bought by battling with the severest storm that ever blew across these lonely hills!" With such thoughts, he arrived about noon at Harfra, the habitation, as the reader may remember, of the ingenious Mr. Yellowley. Our traveller had, upon the present occasion, taken care to be quite independent of the niggardly hospitality of this mansion, which was now become infamous on that account through the whole island, by bringing with him, in his small knapsack, such provisions as might have sufficed for a longer journey. In courtesy, however, or rather, perhaps, to get rid of his own disquieting thoughts, Mordaunt did not fail to call at the mansion, which he found in singular commotion. Triptolemus himself, invested with a pair of large jack-boots, went clattering up and down stairs, screaming out questions to his sister and his serving-woman Tronda, who replied with shriller and more complicated screeches. At length, Mrs. Baby herself made her appearance, her venerable person endued with what was then called a joseph, an ample garment, which had once been green, but now, betwixt stains and patches, had become like the vesture of the patriarch whose name it bore--a garment of divers colours. A steeple-crowned hat, the purchase of some long-past moment, in which vanity had got the better of avarice, with a feather which had stood as much wind and rain as if it had been part of a seamew's wing, made up her equipment, save that in her hand she held a silver-mounted whip of antique fashion. This attire, as well as an air of determined bustle in the gait and appearance of Mrs. Barbara Yellowley, seemed to bespeak that she was prepared to take a journey, and cared not, as the saying goes, who knew that such was her determination. She was the first that observed Mordaunt on his arrival, and she greeted him with a degree of mingled emotion. "Be good to us!" she exclaimed, "if here is not the canty callant that wears yon thing about his neck, and that snapped up our goose as light as if it had been a sandie-lavrock!" The admiration of the gold chain, which had formerly made so deep an impression on her mind, was marked in the first part of her speech, the recollection of the untimely fate of the smoked goose was commemorated in the second clause. "I will lay the burden of my life," she instantly added, "that he is ganging our gate." "I am bound for Burgh-Westra, Mrs. Yellowley," said Mordaunt. "And blithe will we be of your company," she added--"it's early day to eat; but if you liked a barley scone and a drink of bland--natheless, it is ill travelling on a full stomach, besides quelling your appetite for the feast that is biding you this day; for all sort of prodigality there will doubtless be." Mordaunt produced his own stores, and, explaining that he did not love to be burdensome to them on this second occasion, invited them to partake of the provisions he had to offer. Poor Triptolemus, who seldom saw half so good a dinner as his guest's luncheon, threw himself upon the good cheer, like Sancho on the scum of Camacho's kettle, and even the lady herself could not resist the temptation, though she gave way to it with more moderation, and with something like a sense of shame. "She had let the fire out," she said, "for it was a pity wasting fuel in so cold a country, and so she had not thought of getting any thing ready, as they were to set out so soon; and so she could not but say, that the young gentleman's _nacket_ looked very good; and besides, she had some curiosity to see whether the folks in that country cured their beef in the same way they did in the north of Scotland." Under which combined considerations, Dame Baby made a hearty experiment on the refreshments which thus unexpectedly presented themselves. When their extemporary repast was finished, the factor became solicitous to take the road; and now Mordaunt discovered, that the alacrity with which he had been received by Mistress Baby was not altogether disinterested. Neither she nor the learned Triptolemus felt much disposed to commit themselves to the wilds of Zetland, without the assistance of a guide; and although they could have commanded the aid of one of their own labouring folks, yet the cautious agriculturist observed, that it would be losing at least one day's work; and his sister multiplied his apprehensions by echoing back, "One day's work?--ye may weel say twenty--for, set ane of their noses within the smell of a kail-pot, and their lugs within the sound of a fiddle, and whistle them back if ye can!" Now the fortunate arrival of Mordaunt, in the very nick of time, not to mention the good cheer which he brought with him, made him as welcome as any one could possibly be to a threshold, which, on all ordinary occasions, abhorred the passage of a guest; nor was Mr. Yellowley altogether insensible of the pleasure he promised himself in detailing his plans of improvement to his young companion, and enjoying what his fate seldom assigned him--the company of a patient and admiring listener. As the factor and his sister were to prosecute their journey on horseback, it only remained to mount their guide and companion; a thing easily accomplished, where there are such numbers of shaggy, long-backed, short-legged ponies, running wild upon the extensive moors, which are the common pasturage for the cattle of every township, where shelties, geese, swine, goats, sheep, and little Zetland cows, are turned out promiscuously, and often in numbers which can obtain but precarious subsistence from the niggard vegetation. There is, indeed, a right of individual property in all these animals, which are branded or tattooed by each owner with his own peculiar mark; but when any passenger has occasional use for a pony, he never scruples to lay hold of the first which he can catch, puts on a halter, and, having rode him as far as he finds convenient, turns the animal loose to find his way back again as he best can--a matter in which the ponies are sufficiently sagacious. Although this general exercise of property was one of the enormities which in due time the factor intended to abolish, yet, like a wise man, he scrupled not, in the meantime, to avail himself of so general a practice, which, he condescended to allow, was particularly convenient for those who (as chanced to be his own present case) had no ponies of their own on which their neighbours could retaliate. Three shelties, therefore, were procured from the hill--little shagged animals, more resembling wild bears than any thing of the horse tribe, yet possessed of no small degree of strength and spirit, and able to endure as much fatigue and indifferent usage as any creatures in the world. Two of these horses were already provided and fully accoutred for the journey. One of them, destined to bear the fair person of Mistress Baby, was decorated with a huge side-saddle of venerable antiquity--a mass, as it were, of cushion and padding, from which depended, on all sides, a housing of ancient tapestry, which, having been originally intended for a horse of ordinary size, covered up the diminutive palfrey over which it was spread, from the ears to the tail, and from the shoulder to the fetlock, leaving nothing visible but its head, which looked fiercely out from these enfoldments, like the heraldic representation of a lion looking out of a bush. Mordaunt gallantly lifted up the fair Mistress Yellowley, and at the expense of very slight exertion, placed her upon the summit of her mountainous saddle. It is probable, that, on feeling herself thus squired and attended upon, and experiencing the long unwonted consciousness that she was attired in her best array, some thoughts dawned upon Mistress Baby's mind, which checkered, for an instant, those habitual ideas about thrift, that formed the daily and all-engrossing occupation of her soul. She glanced her eye upon her faded joseph, and on the long housings of her saddle, as she observed, with a smile, to Mordaunt, that "travelling was a pleasant thing in fine weather and agreeable company, if," she added, glancing a look at a place where the embroidery was somewhat frayed and tattered, "it was not sae wasteful to ane's horse-furniture." Meanwhile, her brother stepped stoutly to his steed; and as he chose, notwithstanding the serenity of the weather, to throw a long red cloak over his other garments, his pony was even more completely enveloped in drapery than that of his sister. It happened, moreover, to be an animal of an high and contumacious spirit, bouncing and curvetting occasionally under the weight of Triptolemus, with a vivacity which, notwithstanding his Yorkshire descent, rather deranged him in the saddle; gambols which, as the palfrey itself was not visible, except upon the strictest inspection, had, at a little distance, an effect as if they were the voluntary movements of the cloaked cavalier, without the assistance of any other legs than those with which nature had provided him; and, to any who had viewed Triptolemus under such a persuasion, the gravity, and even distress, announced in his countenance, must have made a ridiculous contrast to the vivacious caprioles with which he piaffed along the moor. Mordaunt kept up with this worthy couple, mounted, according to the simplicity of the time and country, on the first and readiest pony which they had been able to press into the service, with no other accoutrement of any kind than the halter which served to guide him; while Mr. Yellowley, seeing with pleasure his guide thus readily provided with a steed, privately resolved, that this rude custom of helping travellers to horses, without leave of the proprietor, should not be abated in Zetland, until he came to possess a herd of ponies belonging in property to himself, and exposed to suffer in the way of retaliation. But to other uses or abuses of the country, Triptolemus Yellowley showed himself less tolerant. Long and wearisome were the discourses he held with Mordaunt, or (to speak much more correctly) the harangues which he inflicted upon him, concerning the changes which his own advent in these isles was about to occasion. Unskilled as he was in the modern arts by which an estate may be improved to such a high degree that it shall altogether slip through the proprietor's fingers, Triptolemus had at least the zeal, if not the knowledge, of a whole agricultural society in his own person; nor was he surpassed by any who has followed him, in that noble spirit which scorns to balance profit against outlay, but holds the glory of effecting a great change on the face of the land, to be, like virtue, in a great degree its own reward. No part of the wild and mountainous region over which Mordaunt guided him, but what suggested to his active imagination some scheme of improvement and alteration. He would make a road through yon scarce passable glen, where at present nothing but the sure-footed creatures on which they were mounted could tread with any safety. He would substitute better houses for the skeoes, or sheds built of dry stones, in which the inhabitants cured or manufactured their fish--they should brew good ale instead of bland--they should plant forests where tree never grew, and find mines of treasure where a Danish skilling was accounted a coin of a most respectable denomination. All these mutations, with many others, did the worthy factor resolve upon, speaking at the same time with the utmost confidence of the countenance and assistance which he was to receive from the higher classes, and especially from Magnus Troil. "I will impart some of my ideas to the poor man," he said, "before we are both many hours older; and you will mark how grateful he will be to the instructor who brings him knowledge, which is better than wealth." "I would not have you build too strongly on that," said Mordaunt, by way of caution; "Magnus Troil's boat is kittle to trim--he likes his own ways, and his country-ways, and you will as soon teach your sheltie to dive like a sealgh, as bring Magnus to take a Scottish fashion in the place of a Norse one; and yet, if he is steady to his old customs, he may perhaps be as changeable as another in his old friendships." "_Heus, tu inepte!_" said the scholar of Saint Andrews, "steady or unsteady, what can it matter?--am not I here in point of trust, and in point of power? and shall a Fowd, by which barbarous appellative this Magnus Troil still calls himself, presume to measure judgment and weigh reasons with me, who represent the full dignity of the Chamberlain of the islands of Orkney and Zetland?" "Still," said Mordaunt, "I would advise you not to advance too rashly upon his prejudices. Magnus Troil, from the hour of his birth to this day, never saw a greater man than himself, and it is difficult to bridle an old horse for the first time. Besides, he has at no time in his life been a patient listener to long explanations, so it is possible that he may quarrel with your purposed reformation, before you can convince him of its advantages." "How mean you, young man?" said the factor. "Is there one who dwells in these islands, who is so wretchedly blind as not to be sensible of their deplorable defects? Can a man," he added, rising into enthusiasm as he spoke, "or even a beast, look at that thing there, which they have the impudence to call a corn-mill,[38] without trembling to think that corn should be intrusted to such a miserable molendinary? The wretches are obliged to have at least fifty in each parish, each trundling away upon its paltry mill-stone, under the thatch of a roof no bigger than a bee-skep, instead of a noble and seemly baron's mill, of which you would hear the clack through the haill country, and that casts the meal through the mill-eye by forpits at a time!" "Ay, ay, brother," said his sister, "that's spoken like your wise sell. The mair cost the mair honour--that's your word ever mair. Can it no creep into your wise head, man, that ilka body grinds their ain nievefu' of meal in this country, without plaguing themsells about barons' mills, and thirls, and sucken, and the like trade? How mony a time have I heard you bell-the-cat with auld Edie Netherstane, the miller at Grindleburn, and wi' his very knave too, about in-town and out-town multures--lock, gowpen, and knaveship,(_i_) and a' the lave o't; and now naething less will serve you than to bring in the very same fashery on a wheen puir bodies, that big ilk ane a mill for themselves, sic as it is?" "Dinna tell me of gowpen and knaveship!" exclaimed the indignant agriculturist; "better pay the half of the grist to the miller, to have the rest grund in a Christian manner, than put good grain into a bairn's whirligig. Look at it for a moment, Baby--Bide still, ye cursed imp!" This interjection was applied to his pony, which began to be extremely impatient, while its rider interrupted his journey, to point out all the weak points of the Zetland mill--"Look at it, I say--it's just one degree better than a hand-quern--it has neither wheel nor trindle--neither cog nor happer--Bide still, there's a canny beast--it canna grind a bickerfu' of meal in a quarter of an hour, and that will be mair like a mash for horse than a meltith for man's use--Wherefore--Bide still, I say--wherefore--wherefore--The deil's in the beast, and nae good, I think!" As he uttered the last words, the shelty, which had pranced and curvetted for some time with much impatience, at length got its head betwixt its legs, and at once canted its rider into the little rivulet, which served to drive the depreciated engine he was surveying; then emancipating itself from the folds of the cloak, fled back towards its own wilderness, neighing in scorn, and flinging out its heels at every five yards. Laughing heartily at his disaster, Mordaunt helped the old man to arise; while his sister sarcastically congratulated him on having fallen rather into the shallows of a Zetland rivulet than the depths of a Scottish mill-pond. Disdaining to reply to this sarcasm, Triptolemus, so soon as he had recovered his legs, shaken his ears, and found that the folds of his cloak had saved him from being much wet in the scanty streamlet, exclaimed aloud, "I will have cussers from Lanarkshire--brood mares from Ayrshire--I will not have one of these cursed abortions left on the islands, to break honest folk's necks--I say, Baby, I will rid the land of them." "Ye had better wring your ain cloak, Triptolemus," answered Baby. Mordaunt meanwhile was employed in catching another pony, from a herd which strayed at some distance; and, having made a halter out of twisted rushes, he seated the dismayed agriculturist in safety upon a more quiet, though less active steed, than that which he had at first bestrode. But Mr. Yellowley's fall had operated as a considerable sedative upon his spirits, and, for the full space of five miles' travel, he said scarce a word, leaving full course to the melancholy aspirations and lamentations which his sister Baby bestowed on the old bridle, which the pony had carried off in its flight, and which, she observed, after having lasted for eighteen years come Martinmas, might now be considered as a castaway thing. Finding she had thus the field to herself, the old lady launched forth into a lecture upon economy, according to her own idea of that virtue, which seemed to include a system of privations, which, though observed with the sole purpose of saving money, might, if undertaken upon other principles, have ranked high in the history of a religious ascetic. She was but little interrupted by Mordaunt, who, conscious he was now on the eve of approaching Burgh-Westra, employed himself rather in the task of anticipating the nature of the reception he was about to meet with there from two beautiful young women, than with the prosing of an old one, however wisely she might prove that small-beer was more wholesome than strong ale, and that if her brother had bruised his ankle bone in his tumble, cumfrey and butter was better to bring him round again, than all the doctor's drugs in the world. But now the dreary moorlands, over which their path had hitherto lain, were exchanged for a more pleasant prospect, opening on a salt-water lake, or arm of the sea, which ran up far inland, and was surrounded by flat and fertile ground, producing crops better than the experienced eye of Triptolemus Yellowley had as yet witnessed in Zetland. In the midst of this Goshen stood the mansion of Burgh-Westra, screened from the north and east by a ridge of heathy hills which lay behind it, and commanding an interesting prospect of the lake and its parent ocean, as well as the islands, and more distant mountains. From the mansion itself, as well as from almost every cottage in the adjacent hamlet, arose such a rich cloud of vapoury smoke, as showed, that the preparations for the festival were not confined to the principal residence of Magnus himself, but extended through the whole vicinage. "My certie," said Mrs. Baby Yellowley, "ane wad think the haill town was on fire! The very hill-side smells of their wastefulness, and a hungry heart wad scarce seek better kitchen[39] to a barley scone, than just to waft it in the reek that's rising out of yon lums." FOOTNOTES: [38] Note VI.--Zetland Corn-mills. [39] What is eat by way of relish to dry bread is called _kitchen_ in Scotland, as cheese, dried fish, or the like relishing morsels. CHAPTER XII. ----Thou hast described A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith. _Julius Cæsar._ If the smell which was wafted from the chimneys of Burgh-Westra up to the barren hills by which the mansion was surrounded, could, as Mistress Barbara opined, have refreshed the hungry, the noise which proceeded from thence might have given hearing to the deaf. It was a medley of all sounds, and all connected with jollity and kind welcome. Nor were the sights associated with them less animating. Troops of friends were seen in the act of arriving--their dispersed ponies flying to the moors in every direction, to recover their own pastures in the best way they could;--such, as we have already said, being the usual mode of discharging the cavalry which had been levied for a day's service. At a small but commodious harbour, connected with the house and hamlet, those visitors were landing from their boats, who, living in distant islands, and along the coast, had preferred making their journey by sea. Mordaunt and his companions might see each party pausing frequently to greet each other, and strolling on successively to the house, whose ever open gate received them alternately in such numbers, that it seemed the extent of the mansion, though suited to the opulence and hospitality of the owner, was scarce, on this occasion, sufficient for the guests. Among the confused sounds of mirth and welcome which arose at the entrance of each new company, Mordaunt thought he could distinguish the loud laugh and hearty salutation of the Sire of the mansion, and began to feel more deeply than before, the anxious doubt, whether that cordial reception, which was distributed so freely to all others, would be on this occasion extended to him. As they came on, they heard the voluntary scrapings and bravura effusions of the gallant fiddlers, who impatiently flung already from their bows those sounds with which they were to animate the evening. The clamour of the cook's assistants, and the loud scolding tones of the cook himself, were also to be heard--sounds of dissonance at any other time, but which, subdued with others, and by certain happy associations, form no disagreeable part of the full chorus which always precedes a rural feast. Meanwhile, the guests advanced, each full of their own thoughts. Mordaunt's we have already noticed. Baby was wrapt up in the melancholy grief and surprise excited by the positive conviction, that so much victuals had been cooked at once as were necessary to feed all the mouths which were clamouring around her--an enormity of expense, which, though she was no way concerned in bearing it, affected her nerves, as the beholding a massacre would touch those of the most indifferent spectator, however well assured of his own personal safety. She sickened, in short, at the sight of so much extravagance, like Abyssinian Bruce, when he saw the luckless minstrels of Gondar hacked to pieces by the order of Ras Michael. As for her brother, they being now arrived where the rude and antique instruments of Zetland agriculture lay scattered in the usual confusion of a Scottish barn-yard, his thoughts were at once engrossed in the deficiencies of the one-stilted plough--of the _twiscar_, with which they dig peats--of the sledges, on which they transport commodities--of all and every thing, in short, in which the usages of the islands differed from those of the mainland of Scotland. The sight of these imperfect instruments stirred the blood of Triptolemus Yellowley, as that of the bold warrior rises at seeing the arms and insignia of the enemy he is about to combat; and, faithful to his high emprise, he thought less of the hunger which his journey had occasioned, although about to be satisfied by such a dinner as rarely fell to his lot, than upon the task which he had undertaken, of civilizing the manners, and improving the cultivation, of Zetland. "_Jacta est alea_," he muttered to himself; "this very day shall prove whether the Zetlanders are worthy of our labours, or whether their minds are as incapable of cultivation as their peat-mosses. Yet let us be cautious, and watch the soft time of speech. I feel, by my own experience, that it were best to let the body, in its present state, take the place of the mind. A mouthful of that same roast-beef, which smells so delicately, will form an apt introduction to my grand plan for improving the breed of stock." By this time the visitors had reached the low but ample front of Magnus Troil's residence, which seemed of various dates, with large and ill-imagined additions, hastily adapted to the original building, as the increasing estate, or enlarged family, of successive proprietors, appeared to each to demand. Beneath a low, broad, and large porch, supported by two huge carved posts, once the head-ornaments of vessels which had found shipwreck upon the coast, stood Magnus himself, intent on the hospitable toil of receiving and welcoming the numerous guests who successively approached. His strong portly figure was well adapted to the dress which he wore--a blue coat of an antique cut, lined with scarlet, and laced and looped with gold down the seams and button-holes, and along the ample cuffs. Strong and masculine features, rendered ruddy and brown by frequent exposure to severe weather--a quantity of most venerable silver hair, which fell in unshorn profusion from under his gold-laced hat, and was carelessly tied with a ribbon behind, expressed at once his advanced age, his hasty, yet well-conditioned temper, and his robust constitution. As our travellers approached him, a shade of displeasure seemed to cross his brow, and to interrupt for an instant the honest and hearty burst of hilarity with which he had been in the act of greeting all prior arrivals. When he approached Triptolemus Yellowley, he drew himself up, so as to mix, as it were, some share of the stately importance of the opulent Udaller with the welcome afforded by the frank and hospitable landlord. "You are welcome, Mr. Yellowley," was his address to the factor; "you are welcome to Westra--the wind has blown you on a rough coast, and we that are the natives must be kind to you as we can. This, I believe, is your sister--Mistress Barbara Yellowley, permit me the honour of a neighbourly salute."--And so saying, with a daring and self-devoted courtesy, which would find no equal in our degenerate days, he actually ventured to salute the withered cheek of the spinster, who relaxed so much of her usual peevishness of expression, as to receive the courtesy with something which approached to a smile. He then looked full at Mordaunt Mertoun, and without offering his hand, said, in a tone somewhat broken by suppressed agitation, "You too are welcome, Master Mordaunt." "Did I not think so," said Mordaunt, naturally offended by the coldness of his host's manner, "I had not been here--and it is not yet too late to turn back." "Young man," replied Magnus, "you know better than most, that from these doors no man can turn, without an offence to their owner. I pray you, disturb not my guests by your ill-timed scruples. When Magnus Troil says welcome, all are welcome who are within hearing of his voice, and it is an indifferent loud one.--Walk on, my worthy guests, and let us see what cheer my lasses can make you within doors." So saying, and taking care to make his manner so general to the whole party, that Mordaunt should not be able to appropriate any particular portion of the welcome to himself, nor yet to complain of being excluded from all share in it, the Udaller ushered the guests into his house, where two large outer rooms, which, on the present occasion, served the purpose of a modern saloon, were already crowded with guests of every description. The furniture was sufficiently simple, and had a character peculiar to the situation of those stormy islands. Magnus Troil was, indeed, like most of the higher class of Zetland proprietors, a friend to the distressed traveller, whether by sea or land, and had repeatedly exerted his whole authority in protecting the property and persons of shipwrecked mariners; yet so frequent were wrecks upon that tremendous coast, and so many unappropriated articles were constantly flung ashore, that the interior of the house bore sufficient witness to the ravages of the ocean, and to the exercise of those rights which the lawyers term _Flotsome and Jetsome_. The chairs, which were arranged around the walls, were such as are used in cabins, and many of them were of foreign construction; the mirrors and cabinets, which were placed against the walls for ornament or convenience, had, it was plain from their form, been constructed for ship-board, and one or two of the latter were of strange and unknown wood. Even the partition which separated the two apartments, seemed constructed out of the bulkhead of some large vessel, clumsily adapted to the service which it at present performed, by the labour of some native joiner. To a stranger, these evident marks and tokens of human misery might, at the first glance, form a contrast with the scene of mirth with which they were now associated; but the association was so familiar to the natives, that it did not for a moment interrupt the course of their glee. To the younger part of these revellers the presence of Mordaunt was like a fresh charm of enjoyment. All came around him to marvel at his absence, and all, by their repeated enquiries, plainly showed that they conceived it had been entirely voluntary on his side. The youth felt that this general acceptation relieved his anxiety on one painful point. Whatever prejudice the family of Burgh-Westra might have adopted respecting him, it must be of a private nature; and at least he had not the additional pain of finding that he was depreciated in the eyes of society at large; and his vindication, when he found opportunity to make one, would not require to be extended beyond the circle of a single family. This was consoling; though his heart still throbbed with anxiety at the thought of meeting with his estranged, but still beloved friends. Laying the excuse of his absence on his father's state of health, he made his way through the various groups of friends and guests, each of whom seemed willing to detain him as long as possible, and having, by presenting them to one or two families of consequence, got rid of his travelling companions, who at first stuck fast as burs, he reached at length the door of a small apartment, which, opening from one of the large exterior rooms we have mentioned, Minna and Brenda had been permitted to fit up after their own taste, and to call their peculiar property. Mordaunt had contributed no small share of the invention and mechanical execution employed in fitting up this favourite apartment, and in disposing its ornaments. It was, indeed, during his last residence at Burgh-Westra, as free to his entrance and occupation, as to its proper mistresses. But now, so much were times altered, that he remained with his finger on the latch, uncertain whether he should take the freedom to draw it, until Brenda's voice pronounced the words, "Come in, then," in the tone of one who is interrupted by an unwelcome disturber, who is to be heard and dispatched with all the speed possible. At this signal Mertoun entered the fanciful cabinet of the sisters, which by the addition of many ornaments, including some articles of considerable value, had been fitted up for the approaching festival. The daughters of Magnus, at the moment of Mordaunt's entrance, were seated in deep consultation with the stranger Cleveland, and with a little slight-made old man, whose eye retained all the vivacity of spirit, which had supported him under the thousand vicissitudes of a changeful and precarious life, and which, accompanying him in his old age, rendered his grey hairs less awfully reverend perhaps, but not less beloved, than would a more grave and less imaginative expression of countenance and character. There was even a penetrating shrewdness mingled in the look of curiosity, with which, as he stepped for an instant aside, he seemed to watch the meeting of Mordaunt with the two lovely sisters. The reception the youth met with resembled, in general character, that which he had experienced from Magnus himself; but the maidens could not so well cover their sense of the change of circumstances under which they met. Both blushed, as, rising, and without extending the hand, far less offering the cheek, as the fashion of the times permitted, and almost exacted, they paid to Mordaunt the salutation due to an ordinary acquaintance. But the blush of the elder was one of those transient evidences of flitting emotion, that vanish as fast as the passing thought which excites them. In an instant she stood before the youth calm and cold, returning, with guarded and cautious courtesy, the usual civilities, which, with a faltering voice, Mordaunt endeavoured to present to her. The emotion of Brenda bore, externally at least, a deeper and more agitating character. Her blush extended over every part of her beautiful skin which her dress permitted to be visible, including her slender neck, and the upper region of a finely formed bosom. Neither did she even attempt to reply to what share of his confused compliment Mordaunt addressed to her in particular, but regarded him with eyes, in which displeasure was evidently mingled with feelings of regret, and recollections of former times. Mordaunt felt, as it were, assured upon the instant, that the regard of Minna was extinguished, but that it might be yet possible to recover that of the milder Brenda; and such is the waywardness of human fancy, that though he had never hitherto made any distinct difference betwixt these two beautiful and interesting girls, the favour of her, which seemed most absolutely withdrawn, became at the moment the most interesting in his eyes. He was disturbed in these hasty reflections by Cleveland, who advanced, with military frankness, to pay his compliments to his preserver, having only delayed long enough to permit the exchange of the ordinary salutation betwixt the visitor and the ladies of the family. He made his approach with so good a grace, that it was impossible for Mordaunt, although he dated his loss of favour at Burgh-Westra from this stranger's appearance on the coast, and domestication in the family, to do less than return his advances as courtesy demanded, accept his thanks with an appearance of satisfaction, and hope that his time had past pleasantly since their last meeting. Cleveland was about to answer, when he was anticipated by the little old man, formerly noticed, who now thrusting himself forward, and seizing Mordaunt's hand, kissed him on the forehead; and then at the same time echoed and answered his question--"How passes time at Burgh-Westra? Was it you that asked it, my prince of the cliff and of the scaur? How should it pass, but with all the wings that beauty and joy can add to help its flight!" "And wit and song, too, my good old friend," said Mordaunt, half-serious, half-jesting, as he shook the old man cordially by the hand.--"These cannot be wanting, where Claud Halcro comes!" "Jeer me not, Mordaunt, my good lad," replied the old man; "When your foot is as slow as mine, your wit frozen, and your song out of tune"---- "How can you belie yourself, my good master?" answered Mordaunt, who was not unwilling to avail himself of his old friend's peculiarities to introduce something like conversation, break the awkwardness of this singular meeting, and gain time for observation, ere requiring an explanation of the change of conduct which the family seemed to have adopted towards him. "Say not so," he continued. "Time, my old friend, lays his hand lightly on the bard. Have I not heard you say, the poet partakes the immortality of his song? and surely the great English poet, you used to tell us of, was elder than yourself when he pulled the bow-oar among all the wits of London." This alluded to a story which was, as the French term it, Halcro's _cheval de bataille_, and any allusion to which was certain at once to place him in the saddle, and to push his hobby-horse into full career. His laughing eye kindled with a sort of enthusiasm, which the ordinary folk of this world might have called crazed, while he dashed into the subject which he best loved to talk upon. "Alas, alas, my dear Mordaunt Mertoun--silver is silver, and waxes not dim by use--and pewter is pewter, and grows the longer the duller. It is not for poor Claud Halcro to name himself in the same twelvemonth with the immortal John Dryden. True it is, as I may have told you before, that I have seen that great man, nay I have been in the Wits' Coffeehouse, as it was then called, and had once a pinch out of his own very snuff-box. I must have told you all how it happened, but here is Captain Cleveland who never heard it.--I lodged, you must know, in Russel Street--I question not but you know Russel Street, Covent Garden, Captain Cleveland?" "I should know its latitude pretty well, Mr. Halcro," said the Captain, smiling; "but I believe you mentioned the circumstance yesterday, and besides we have the day's duty in hand--you must play us this song which we are to study." "It will not serve the turn now," said Halcro, "we must think of something that will take in our dear Mordaunt, the first voice in the island, whether for a part or solo. I will never be he will touch a string to you, unless Mordaunt Mertoun is to help us out.--What say you, my fairest Night?--what think you, my sweet Dawn of Day?" he added, addressing the young women, upon whom, as we have said elsewhere, he had long before bestowed these allegorical names. "Mr. Mordaunt Mertoun," said Minna, "has come too late to be of our band on this occasion--it is our misfortune, but it cannot be helped." "How? what?" said Halcro, hastily--"too late--and you have practised together all your lives? take my word, my bonny lasses, that old tunes are sweetest, and old friends surest. Mr. Cleveland has a fine bass, that must be allowed; but I would have you trust for the first effect to one of the twenty fine airs you can sing where Mordaunt's tenor joins so well with your own witchery--here is my lovely Day approves of the change in her heart." "You were never in your life more mistaken, father Halcro," said Brenda, her cheeks again reddening, more with displeasure, it seemed, than with shame. "Nay, but how is this?" said the old man, pausing, and looking at them alternately. "What have we got here?--a cloudy night and a red morning?--that betokens rough weather.--What means all this, young women?--where lies the offence?--In me, I fear; for the blame is always laid upon the oldest when young folk like you go by the ears." "The blame is not with you, father Halcro," said Minna, rising, and taking her sister by the arm, "if indeed there be blame anywhere." "I should fear then, Minna," said Mordaunt, endeavouring to soften his tone into one of indifferent pleasantry, "that the new comer has brought the offence along with him." "When no offence is taken," replied Minna, with her usual gravity, "it matters not by whom such may have been offered." "Is it possible, Minna!" exclaimed Mordaunt, "and is it you who speak thus to me?--And you too, Brenda, can you too judge so hardly of me, yet without permitting me one moment of honest and frank explanation?" "Those who should know best," answered Brenda, in a low but decisive tone of voice, "have told us their pleasure, and it must be done.--Sister, I think we have staid too long here, and shall be wanted elsewhere--Mr. Mertoun will excuse us on so busy a day." The sisters linked their arms together. Halcro in vain endeavoured to stop them, making, at the same time, a theatrical gesture, and exclaiming, "Now, Day and Night, but this is wondrous strange!" Then turned to Mordaunt Mertoun, and added--"The girls are possessed with the spirit of mutability, showing, as our master Spenser well saith, that 'Among all living creatures, more or lesse, Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.' Captain Cleveland," he continued, "know you any thing that has happened to put these two juvenile Graces out of tune?" "He will lose his reckoning," answered Cleveland, "that spends time in enquiring why the wind shifts a point, or why a woman changes her mind. Were I Mr. Mordaunt, I would not ask the proud wenches another question on such a subject." "It is a friendly advice, Captain Cleveland," replied Mordaunt, "and I will not hold it the less so that it has been given unasked. Allow me to enquire if you are yourself as indifferent to the opinion of your female friends, as it seems you would have me to be?" "Who, I?" said the Captain, with an air of frank indifference, "I never thought twice upon such a subject. I never saw a woman worth thinking twice about after the anchor was a-peak--on shore it is another thing; and I will laugh, sing, dance, and make love, if they like it, with twenty girls, were they but half so pretty as those who have left us, and make them heartily welcome to change their course in the sound of a boatswain's whistle. It will be odds but I wear as fast as they can." A patient is seldom pleased with that sort of consolation which is founded on holding light the malady of which he complains; and Mordaunt felt disposed to be offended with Captain Cleveland, both for taking notice of his embarrassment, and intruding upon him his own opinion; and he replied, therefore, somewhat sharply, "that Captain Cleveland's sentiments were only suited to such as had the art to become universal favourites wherever chance happened to throw them, and who could not lose in one place more than their merit was sure to gain for them in another." This was spoken ironically; but there was, to confess the truth, a superior knowledge of the world, and a consciousness of external merit at least, about the man, which rendered his interference doubly disagreeable. As Sir Lucius O'Trigger says, there was an air of success about Captain Cleveland which was mighty provoking. Young, handsome, and well assured, his air of nautical bluntness sat naturally and easily upon him, and was perhaps particularly well fitted to the simple manners of the remote country in which he found himself; and where, even in the best families, a greater degree of refinement might have rendered his conversation rather less acceptable. He was contented, in the present instance, to smile good-humouredly at the obvious discontent of Mordaunt Mertoun, and replied, "You are angry with me, my good friend, but you cannot make me angry with you. The fair hands of all the pretty women I ever saw in my life would never have fished me up out of the Roost of Sumburgh. So, pray, do not quarrel with me; for here is Mr. Halcro witness that I have struck both jack and topsail, and should you fire a broadside into me, cannot return a single shot." "Ay, ay," said Halcro, "you must be friends with Captain Cleveland, Mordaunt. Never quarrel with your friend, because a woman is whimsical. Why, man, if they kept one humour, how the devil could we make so many songs on them as we do? Even old Dryden himself, glorious old John, could have said little about a girl that was always of one mind--as well write verses upon a mill-pond. It is your tides and your roosts, and your currents and eddies, that come and go, and ebb and flow, (by Heaven! I run into rhyme when I so much as think upon them,) that smile one day, rage the next, flatter and devour, delight and ruin us, and so forth--it is these that give the real soul of poetry. Did you never hear my Adieu to the Lass of Northmaven--that was poor Bet Stimbister, whom I call Mary for the sound's sake, as I call myself Hacon after my great ancestor Hacon Goldemund, or Haco with the golden mouth, who came to the island with Harold Harfager, and was his chief Scald?--Well, but where was I?--O ay--poor Bet Stimbister, she (and partly some debt) was the cause of my leaving the isles of Hialtland, (better so called than Shetland, or Zetland even,) and taking to the broad world. I have had a tramp of it since that time--I have battled my way through the world, Captain, as a man of mold may, that has a light head, a light purse, and a heart as light as them both--fought my way, and paid my way--that is, either with money or wit--have seen kings changed and deposed as you would turn a tenant out of a scathold--knew all the wits of the age, and especially the glorious John Dryden--what man in the islands can say as much, barring lying?--I had a pinch out of his own snuff-box--I will tell you how I came by such promotion." "But the song, Mr. Halcro," said Captain Cleveland. "The song?" answered Halcro, seizing the Captain by the button,--for he was too much accustomed to have his audience escape from him during recitation, not to put in practice all the usual means of prevention,--"The song? Why I gave a copy of it, with fifteen others, to the immortal John. You shall hear it--you shall hear them all, if you will but stand still a moment; and you too, my dear boy, Mordaunt Mertoun, I have scarce heard a word from your mouth these six months, and now you are running away from me." So saying, he secured him with his other hand. "Nay, now he has got us both in tow," said the seaman, "there is nothing for it but hearing him out, though he spins as tough a yarn as ever an old man-of-war's-man twisted on the watch at midnight." "Nay, now, be silent, be silent, and let one of us speak at once," said the poet, imperatively; while Cleveland and Mordaunt, looking at each other with a ludicrous expression of resignation to their fate, waited in submission for the well-known and inevitable tale. "I will tell you all about it," continued Halcro. "I was knocked about the world like other young fellows, doing this, that, and t'other for a livelihood; for, thank God, I could turn my hand to any thing--but loving still the Muses as much as if the ungrateful jades had found me, like so many blockheads, in my own coach and six. However, I held out till my cousin, old Lawrence Linkletter, died, and left me the bit of an island yonder; although, by the way, Cultmalindie was as near to him as I was; but Lawrence loved wit, though he had little of his own. Well, he left me the wee bit island--it is as barren as Parnassus itself. What then?--I have a penny to spend, a penny to keep my purse, a penny to give to the poor--ay, and a bed and a bottle for a friend, as you shall know, boys, if you will go back with me when this merriment is over.--But where was I in my story?" "Near port, I hope," answered Cleveland; but Halcro was too determined a narrator to be interrupted by the broadest hint. "O ay," he resumed, with the self-satisfied air of one who has recovered the thread of a story, "I was in my old lodgings in Russel Street, with old Timothy Thimblethwaite, the Master Fashioner, then the best-known man about town. He made for all the wits, and for the dull boobies of fortune besides, and made the one pay for the other. He never denied a wit credit save in jest, or for the sake of getting a repartee; and he was in correspondence with all that was worth knowing about town. He had letters from Crowne, and Tate, and Prior, and Tom Brown, and all the famous fellows of the time, with such pellets of wit, that there was no reading them without laughing ready to die, and all ending with craving a further term for payment." "I should have thought the tailor would have found that jest rather serious," said Mordaunt. "Not a bit--not a bit," replied his eulogist, "Tim Thimblethwaite (he was a Cumberland-man by birth) had the soul of a prince--ay, and died with the fortune of one; for woe betide the custard-gorged alderman that came under Tim's goose, after he had got one of those letters--egad, he was sure to pay the kain! Why, Thimblethwaite was thought to be the original of little Tom Bibber, in glorious John's comedy of the Wild Gallant; and I know that he has trusted, ay, and lent John money to boot out of his own pocket, at a time when all his fine court friends blew cold enough. He trusted me too, and I have been two months on the score at a time for my upper room. To be sure, I was obliging in his way--not that I exactly could shape or sew, nor would that have been decorous for a gentleman of good descent; but I--eh, eh--I drew bills--summed up the books"---- "Carried home the clothes of the wits and aldermen, and got lodging for your labour?" interrupted Cleveland. "No, no--damn it, no," replied Halcro; "no such thing--you put me out in my story--where was I?" "Nay, the devil help you to the latitude," said the Captain, extricating his button from the gripe of the unmerciful bard's finger and thumb, "for I have no time to take an observation." So saying, he bolted from the room. "A silly, ill-bred, conceited fool," said Halcro, looking after him; "with as little manners as wit in his empty coxcomb. I wonder what Magnus and these silly wenches can see in him--he tells such damnable long-winded stories, too, about his adventures and sea-fights--every second word a lie, I doubt not. Mordaunt, my dear boy, take example by that man--that is, take warning by him--never tell long stories about yourself. You are sometimes given to talk too much about your own exploits on crags and skerries, and the like, which only breaks conversation, and prevents other folk from being heard. Now I see you are impatient to hear out what I was saying--Stop, whereabouts was I?" "I fear we must put it off, Mr. Halcro, until after dinner," said Mordaunt, who also meditated his escape, though desirous of effecting it with more delicacy towards his old acquaintance than Captain Cleveland had thought it necessary to use. "Nay, my dear boy," said Halcro, seeing himself about to be utterly deserted, "do not you leave me too--never take so bad an example as to set light by old acquaintance, Mordaunt. I have wandered many a weary step in my day; but they were always lightened when I could get hold of the arm of an old friend like yourself." So saying, he quitted the youth's coat, and sliding his hand gently under his arm, grappled him more effectually; to which Mordaunt submitted, a little moved by the poet's observation upon the unkindness of old acquaintances, under which he himself was an immediate sufferer. But when Halcro renewed his formidable question, "Whereabouts was I?" Mordaunt, preferring his poetry to his prose, reminded him of the song which he said he had written upon his first leaving Zetland,--a song to which, indeed, the enquirer was no stranger, but which, as it must be new to the reader, we shall here insert as a favourable specimen of the poetical powers of this tuneful descendant of Haco the Golden-mouthed; for, in the opinion of many tolerable judges, he held a respectable rank among the inditers of madrigals of the period, and was as well qualified to give immortality to his Nancies of the hills or dales, as many a gentle sonnetteer of wit and pleasure about town. He was something of a musician also, and on the present occasion seized upon a sort of lute, and, quitting his victim, prepared the instrument for an accompaniment, speaking all the while that he might lose no time. "I learned the lute," he said, "from the same man who taught honest Shadwell--plump Tom, as they used to call him--somewhat roughly treated by the glorious John, you remember--Mordaunt, you remember-- 'Methinks I see the new Arion sail, The lute still trembling underneath thy nail; At thy well sharpen'd thumb, from shore to shore, The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar.' Come, I am indifferently in tune now--what was it to be?--ay, I remember--nay, The Lass of Northmaven is the ditty--poor Bet Stimbister! I have called her Mary in the verses. Betsy does well for an English song; but Mary is more natural here." So saying, after a short prelude, he sung, with a tolerable voice and some taste, the following verses: MARY. Farewell to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell! To the calms of thy haven, The storms on thy fell-- To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary! We meet not again. Farewell the wild ferry, Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain-- For the skiff of her lover-- He comes not again. The vows thou hast broke, On the wild currents fling them; On the quicksand and rock Let the mermaidens sing them. New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain; But there's one who will never Believe them again. O were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and No man be beguiled-- Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given, And the hope would fix there, That should anchor on heaven! "I see you are softened, my young friend," said Halcro, when he had finished his song; "so are most who hear that same ditty. Words and music both mine own; and, without saying much of the wit of it, there is a sort of eh--eh--simplicity and truth about it, which gets its way to most folk's heart. Even your father cannot resist it--and he has a heart as impenetrable to poetry and song as Apollo himself could draw an arrow against. But then he has had some ill luck in his time with the women-folk, as is plain from his owing them such a grudge--Ay, ay, there the charm lies--none of us but has felt the same sore in our day. But come, my dear boy, they are mustering in the hall, men and women both--plagues as they are, we should get on ill without them--but before we go, only mark the last turn-- 'And the hope would fix there,'-- that is, in the supposed island--a place which neither was nor will be-- 'That should anchor on heaven.' Now you see, my good young man, there are here none of your heathenish rants, which Rochester, Etheridge, and these wild fellows, used to string together. A parson might sing the song, and his clerk bear the burden--but there is the confounded bell--we must go now--but never mind--we'll get into a quiet corner at night, and I'll tell you all about it." CHAPTER XIII. Full in the midst the polish'd table shines, And the bright goblets, rich with generous wines; Now each partakes the feast, the wine prepares, Portions the food, and each the portion shares; Nor till the rage of thirst and hunger ceased, To the high host approach'd the sagacious guest. _Odyssey._ The hospitable profusion of Magnus Troil's board, the number of guests who feasted in the hall, the much greater number of retainers, attendants, humble friends, and domestics of every possible description, who revelled without, with the multitude of the still poorer, and less honoured assistants, who came from every hamlet or township within twenty miles round, to share the bounty of the munificent Udaller, were such as altogether astonished Triptolemus Yellowley, and made him internally doubt whether it would be prudent in him at this time, and amid the full glow of his hospitality, to propose to the host who presided over such a splendid banquet, a radical change in the whole customs and usages of his country. True, the sagacious Triptolemus felt conscious that he possessed in his own person wisdom far superior to that of all the assembled feasters, to say nothing of the landlord, against whose prudence the very extent of his hospitality formed, in Yellowley's opinion, sufficient evidence. But yet the Amphitryon with whom one dines, holds, for the time at least, an influence over the minds of his most distinguished guests; and if the dinner be in good style and the wines of the right quality, it is humbling to see that neither art nor wisdom, scarce external rank itself, can assume their natural and wonted superiority over the distributor of these good things, until coffee has been brought in. Triptolemus felt the full weight of this temporary superiority, yet he was desirous to do something that might vindicate the vaunts he had made to his sister and his fellow-traveller, and he stole a look at them from time to time, to mark whether he was not sinking in their esteem from postponing his promised lecture on the enormities of Zetland. But Mrs. Barbara was busily engaged in noting and registering the waste incurred in such an entertainment as she had probably never before looked upon, and in admiring the host's indifference to, and the guests' absolute negligence of, those rules of civility in which her youth had been brought up. The feasters desired to be helped from a dish which was unbroken, and might have figured at supper, with as much freedom as if it had undergone the ravages of half-a-dozen guests; and no one seemed to care--the landlord himself least of all--whether those dishes only were consumed, which, from their nature, were incapable of re-appearance, or whether the assault was extended to the substantial rounds of beef, pasties, and so forth, which, by the rules of good housewifery, were destined to stand two attacks, and which, therefore, according to Mrs. Barbara's ideas of politeness, ought not to have been annihilated by the guests upon the first onset, but spared, like Outis in the cave of Polyphemus, to be devoured the last. Lost in the meditations to which these breaches of convivial discipline gave rise, and in the contemplation of an ideal larder of cold meat which she could have saved out of the wreck of roast, boiled, and baked, sufficient to have supplied her cupboard for at least a twelvemonth, Mrs. Barbara cared very little whether or not her brother supported in its extent the character which he had calculated upon assuming. Mordaunt Mertoun also was conversant with far other thoughts, than those which regarded the proposed reformer of Zetland enormities. His seat was betwixt two blithe maidens of Thule, who, not taking scorn that he had upon other occasions given preference to the daughters of the Udaller, were glad of the chance which assigned to them the attentions of so distinguished a gallant, who, as being their squire at the feast, might in all probability become their partner in the subsequent dance. But, whilst rendering to his fair neighbours all the usual attentions which society required, Mordaunt kept up a covert, but accurate and close observation, upon his estranged friends, Minna and Brenda. The Udaller himself had a share of his attention; but in him he could remark nothing, except the usual tone of hearty and somewhat boisterous hospitality, with which he was accustomed to animate the banquet upon all such occasions of general festivity. But in the differing mien of the two maidens there was much more room for painful remark. Captain Cleveland sat betwixt the sisters, was sedulous in his attentions to both, and Mordaunt was so placed, that he could observe all, and hear a great deal, of what passed between them. But Cleveland's peculiar regard seemed devoted to the elder sister. Of this the younger was perhaps conscious, for more than once her eye glanced towards Mordaunt, and, as he thought, with something in it which resembled regret for the interruption of their intercourse, and a sad remembrance of former and more friendly times; while Minna was exclusively engrossed by the attentions of her neighbour; and that it should be so, filled Mordaunt with surprise and resentment. Minna, the serious, the prudent, the reserved, whose countenance and manners indicated so much elevation of character--Minna, the lover of solitude, and of those paths of knowledge in which men walk best without company--the enemy of light mirth, the friend of musing melancholy, and the frequenter of fountain-heads and pathless glens--she whose character seemed, in short, the very reverse of that which might be captivated by the bold, coarse, and daring gallantry of such a man as this Captain Cleveland, gave, nevertheless, her eye and ear to him, as he sat beside her at table, with an interest and a graciousness of attention, which, to Mordaunt, who well knew how to judge of her feelings by her manner, intimated a degree of the highest favour. He observed this, and his heart rose against the favourite by whom he had been thus superseded, as well as against Minna's indiscreet departure from her own character. "What is there about the man," he said within himself, "more than the bold and daring assumption of importance which is derived from success in petty enterprises, and the exercise of petty despotism over a ship's crew?--His very language is more professional than is used by the superior officers of the British navy; and the wit which has excited so many smiles, seems to me such as Minna would not formerly have endured for an instant. Even Brenda seems less taken with his gallantry than Minna, whom it should have suited so little." Mordaunt was doubly mistaken in these his angry speculations. In the first place, with an eye which was, in some respects, that of a rival, he criticised far too severely the manners and behaviour of Captain Cleveland. They were unpolished, certainly; which was of the less consequence in a country inhabited by so plain and simple a race as the ancient Zetlanders. On the other hand, there was an open, naval frankness in Cleveland's bearing--much natural shrewdness--some appropriate humour--an undoubting confidence in himself--and that enterprising hardihood of disposition, which, without any other recommendable quality, very often leads to success with the fair sex. But Mordaunt was farther mistaken, in supposing that Cleveland was likely to be disagreeable to Minna Troil, on account of the opposition of their characters in so many material particulars. Had his knowledge of the world been a little more extensive, he might have observed, that as unions are often formed betwixt couples differing in complexion and stature, they take place still more frequently betwixt persons totally differing in feelings, in taste, in pursuits, and in understanding; and it would not be saying, perhaps, too much, to aver, that two-thirds of the marriages around us have been contracted betwixt persons, who, judging _a priori_, we should have thought had scarce any charms for each other. A moral and primary cause might be easily assigned for these anomalies, in the wise dispensations of Providence, that the general balance of wit, wisdom, and amiable qualities of all kinds, should be kept up through society at large. For, what a world were it, if the wise were to intermarry only with the wise, the learned with the learned, the amiable with the amiable, nay, even the handsome with the handsome? and, is it not evident, that the degraded castes of the foolish, the ignorant, the brutal, and the deformed, (comprehending, by the way, far the greater portion of mankind,) must, when condemned to exclusive intercourse with each other, become gradually as much brutalized in person and disposition as so many ourang-outangs? When, therefore, we see the "gentle joined to the rude," we may lament the fate of the suffering individual, but we must not the less admire the mysterious disposition of that wise Providence which thus balances the moral good and evil of life;--which secures for a family, unhappy in the dispositions of one parent, a share of better and sweeter blood, transmitted from the other, and preserves to the offspring the affectionate care and protection of at least one of those from whom it is naturally due. Without the frequent occurrence of such alliances and unions--mis-sorted as they seem at first sight--the world could not be that for which Eternal Wisdom has designed it--a place of mixed good and evil--a place of trial at once, and of suffering, where even the worst ills are checkered with something that renders them tolerable to humble and patient minds, and where the best blessings carry with them a necessary alloy of embittering depreciation. When, indeed, we look a little closer on the causes of those unexpected and ill-suited attachments, we have occasion to acknowledge, that the means by which they are produced do not infer that complete departure from, or inconsistency with, the character of the parties, which we might expect when the result alone is contemplated. The wise purposes which Providence appears to have had in view, by permitting such intermixture of dispositions, tempers, and understandings, in the married state, are not accomplished by any mysterious impulse by which, in contradiction to the ordinary laws of nature, men or women are urged to an union with those whom the world see to be unsuitable to them. The freedom of will is permitted to us in the occurrences of ordinary life, as in our moral conduct; and in the former as well as the latter case, is often the means of misguiding those who possess it. Thus it usually happens, more especially to the enthusiastic and imaginative, that, having formed a picture of admiration in their own mind, they too often deceive themselves by some faint resemblance in some existing being, whom their fancy, as speedily as gratuitously, invests with all the attributes necessary to complete the _beau ideal_ of mental perfection. No one, perhaps, even in the happiest marriage, with an object really beloved, ever discovered by experience all the qualities he expected to possess; but in far too many cases, he finds he has practised a much higher degree of mental deception, and has erected his airy castle of felicity upon some rainbow, which owed its very existence only to the peculiar state of the atmosphere. Thus, Mordaunt, if better acquainted with life, and with the course of human things, would have been little surprised that such a man as Cleveland, handsome, bold, and animated,--a man who had obviously lived in danger, and who spoke of it as sport, should have been invested, by a girl of Minna's fanciful disposition, with an extensive share of those qualities, which, in her active imagination, were held to fill up the accomplishments of a heroic character. The plain bluntness of his manner, if remote from courtesy, appeared at least as widely different from deceit; and, unfashioned as he seemed by forms, he had enough both of natural sense, and natural good-breeding, to support the delusion he had created, at least as far as externals were concerned. It is scarce necessary to add, that these observations apply exclusively to what are called love-matches; for when either party fix their attachment upon the substantial comforts of a rental, or a jointure, they cannot be disappointed in the acquisition, although they may be cruelly so in their over-estimation of the happiness it was to afford, or in having too slightly anticipated the disadvantages with which it was to be attended. Having a certain partiality for the dark Beauty whom we have described, we have willingly dedicated this digression, in order to account for a line of conduct which we allow to seem absolutely unnatural in such a narrative as the present, though the most common event in ordinary life; namely, in Minna's appearing to have over-estimated the taste, talent, and ability of a handsome young man, who was dedicating to her his whole time and attention, and whose homage rendered her the envy of almost all the other young women of that numerous party. Perhaps, if our fair readers will take the trouble to consult their own bosoms, they will be disposed to allow, that the distinguished good taste exhibited by any individual, who, when his attentions would be agreeable to a whole circle of rivals, selects _one_ as their individual object, entitles him, on the footing of reciprocity, if on no other, to a large share of that individual's favourable, and even partial, esteem. At any rate, if the character shall, after all, be deemed inconsistent and unnatural, it concerns not us, who record the facts as we find them, and pretend no privilege for bringing closer to nature those incidents which may seem to diverge from it; or for reducing to consistence that most inconsistent of all created things--the heart of a beautiful and admired female. Necessity, which teaches all the liberal arts, can render us also adepts in dissimulation; and Mordaunt, though a novice, failed not to profit in her school. It was manifest, that, in order to observe the demeanour of those on whom his attention was fixed, he must needs put constraint on his own, and appear, at least, so much engaged with the damsels betwixt whom he sat, that Minna and Brenda should suppose him indifferent to what was passing around him. The ready cheerfulness of Maddie and Clara Groatsettars, who were esteemed considerable fortunes in the island, and were at this moment too happy in feeling themselves seated somewhat beyond the sphere of vigilance influenced by their aunt, the good old Lady Glowrowrum, met and requited the attempts which Mordaunt made to be lively and entertaining; and they were soon engaged in a gay conversation, to which, as usual on such occasions, the gentleman contributed wit, or what passes for such, and the ladies their prompt laughter and liberal applause. But, amidst this seeming mirth, Mordaunt failed not, from time to time, as covertly as he might, to observe the conduct of the two daughters of Magnus; and still it appeared as if the elder, wrapt up in the conversation of Cleveland, did not cast away a thought on the rest of the company; and as if Brenda, more openly as she conceived his attention withdrawn from her, looked with an expression both anxious and melancholy towards the group of which he himself formed a part. He was much moved by the diffidence, as well as the trouble, which her looks seemed to convey, and tacitly formed the resolution of seeking a more full explanation with her in the course of the evening. Norna, he remembered, had stated that these two amiable young women were in danger, the nature of which she left unexplained, but which he suspected to arise out of their mistaking the character of this daring and all-engrossing stranger; and he secretly resolved, that, if possible, he would be the means of detecting Cleveland, and of saving his early friends. As he revolved these thoughts, his attention to the Miss Groatsettars gradually diminished, and perhaps he might altogether have forgotten the necessity of his appearing an uninterested spectator of what was passing, had not the signal been given for the ladies retiring from table. Minna, with a native grace, and somewhat of stateliness in her manner, bent her head to the company in general, with a kinder and more particular expression as her eye reached Cleveland. Brenda, with the blush which attended her slightest personal exertion when exposed to the eyes of others, hurried through the same departing salutation with an embarrassment which almost amounted to awkwardness, but which her youth and timidity rendered at once natural and interesting. Again Mordaunt thought that her eye distinguished him amidst the numerous company. For the first time he ventured to encounter and to return the glance; and the consciousness that he had done so doubled the glow of Brenda's countenance, while something resembling displeasure was blended with her emotion. When the ladies had retired, the men betook themselves to the deep and serious drinking, which, according to the fashion of the times, preceded the evening exercise of the dance. Old Magnus himself, by precept and example, exhorted them "to make the best use of their time, since the ladies would soon summon them to shake their feet." At the same time giving the signal to a grey-headed domestic, who stood behind him in the dress of a Dantzic skipper, and who added to many other occupations that of butler, "Eric Scambester," he said, "has the good ship the Jolly Mariner of Canton, got her cargo on board?" "Chokeful loaded," answered the Ganymede of Burgh-Westra, "with good Nantz, Jamaica sugar, Portugal lemons, not to mention nutmeg and toast, and water taken in from the Shellicoat spring." Loud and long laughed the guests at this stated and regular jest betwixt the Udaller and his butler, which always served as a preface to the introduction of a punch-bowl of enormous size, the gift of the captain of one of the Honourable East India Company's vessels, which, bound from China homeward, had been driven north-about by stress of weather into Lerwick-bay, and had there contrived to get rid of part of the cargo, without very scrupulously reckoning for the King's duties. Magnus Troil, having been a large customer, besides otherwise obliging Captain Coolie, had been remunerated, on the departure of the ship, with this splendid vehicle of conviviality, at the very sight of which, as old Eric Scambester bent under its weight, a murmur of applause ran through the company. The good old toasts dedicated to the prosperity of Zetland, were then honoured with flowing bumpers. "Death to the head that never wears hair!" was a sentiment quaffed to the success of the fishing, as proposed by the sonorous voice of the Udaller. Claud Halcro proposed with general applause, "The health of their worthy landmaster, the sweet sister meat-mistresses; health to man, death to fish, and growth to the produce of the ground." The same recurring sentiment was proposed more concisely by a whiteheaded compeer of Magnus Troil, in the words, "God open the mouth of the grey fish, and keep his hand about the corn!"[40] Full opportunity was afforded to all to honour these interesting toasts. Those nearest the capacious Mediterranean of punch, were accommodated by the Udaller with their portions, dispensed in huge rummer glasses by his own hospitable hand, whilst they who sat at a greater distance replenished their cups by means of a rich silver flagon, facetiously called the Pinnace; which, filled occasionally at the bowl, served to dispense its liquid treasures to the more remote parts of the table, and occasioned many right merry jests on its frequent voyages. The commerce of the Zetlanders with foreign vessels, and homeward-bound West Indiamen, had early served to introduce among them the general use of the generous beverage, with which the Jolly Mariner of Canton was loaded; nor was there a man in the archipelago of Thule more skilled in combining its rich ingredients, than old Eric Scambester, who indeed was known far and wide through the isles by the name of the Punch-maker, after the fashion of the ancient Norwegians, who conferred on Rollo the Walker, and other heroes of their strain, epithets expressive of the feats of strength or dexterity in which they excelled all other men. The good liquor was not slow in performing its office of exhilaration, and, as the revel advanced, some ancient Norse drinking-songs were sung with great effect by the guests, tending to show, that if, from want of exercise, the martial virtues of their ancestors had decayed among the Zetlanders, they could still actively and intensely enjoy so much of the pleasures of Valhalla as consisted in quaffing the oceans of mead and brown ale, which were promised by Odin to those who should share his Scandinavian paradise. At length, excited by the cup and song, the diffident grew bold, and the modest loquacious--all became desirous of talking, and none were willing to listen--each man mounted his own special hobby-horse, and began eagerly to call on his neighbours to witness his agility. Amongst others, the little bard, who had now got next to our friend Mordaunt Mertoun, evinced a positive determination to commence and conclude, in all its longitude and latitude, the story of his introduction to glorious John Dryden; and Triptolemus Yellowley, as his spirits arose, shaking off a feeling of involuntary awe, with which he was impressed by the opulence indicated in all he saw around him, as well as by the respect paid to Magnus Troil by the assembled guests, began to broach, to the astonished and somewhat offended Udaller, some of those projects for ameliorating the islands, which he had boasted of to his fellow-travellers upon their journey of the morning. But the innovations which he suggested, and the reception which they met with at the hand of Magnus Troil, must be told in the next Chapter. FOOTNOTES: [40] See Hibbert's Description of the Zetland Islands, p. 470. CHAPTER XIV. We'll keep our customs--what is law itself, But old establish'd custom? What religion, (I mean, with one-half of the men that use it,) Save the good use and wont that carries them To worship how and where their fathers worshipp'd? All things resolve in custom--we'll keep ours. _Old Play._ We left the company of Magnus Troil engaged in high wassail and revelry. Mordaunt, who, like his father, shunned the festive cup, did not partake in the cheerfulness which the ship diffused among the guests as they unloaded it, and the pinnace, as it circumnavigated the table. But, in low spirits as he seemed, he was the more meet prey for the story-telling Halcro, who had fixed upon him, as in a favourable state to play the part of listener, with something of the same instinct that directs the hooded crow to the sick sheep among the flock, which will most patiently suffer itself to be made a prey of. Joyfully did the poet avail himself of the advantages afforded by Mordaunt's absence of mind, and unwillingness to exert himself in measures of active defence. With the unfailing dexterity peculiar to prosers, he contrived to dribble out his tale to double its usual length, by the exercise of the privilege of unlimited digressions; so that the story, like a horse on the _grand pas_, seemed to be advancing with rapidity, while, in reality, it scarce was progressive at the rate of a yard in the quarter of an hour. At length, however, he had discussed, in all its various bearings and relations, the history of his friendly landlord, the master fashioner in Russel Street, including a short sketch of five of his relations, and anecdotes of three of his principal rivals, together with some general observations upon the dress and fashion of the period; and having marched thus far through the environs and outworks of his story, he arrived at the body of the place, for so the Wits' Coffeehouse might be termed. He paused on the threshold, however, to explain the nature of his landlord's right occasionally to intrude himself into this well-known temple of the Muses. "It consisted," said Halcro, "in the two principal points, of bearing and forbearing; for my friend Thimblethwaite was a person of wit himself, and never quarrelled with any jest which the wags who frequented that house were flinging about, like squibs and crackers on a rejoicing night; and then, though some of the wits--ay, and I daresay the greater number, might have had some dealings with him in the way of trade, he never was the person to put any man of genius in unpleasant remembrance of such trifles. And though, my dear young Master Mordaunt, you may think this is but ordinary civility, because in this country it happens seldom that there is either much borrowing or lending, and because, praised be Heaven, there are neither bailiffs nor sheriff-officers to take a poor fellow by the neck, and because there are no prisons to put him into when they have done so, yet, let me tell you, that such a lamblike forbearance as that of my poor, dear, deceased landlord, Thimblethwaite, is truly uncommon within the London bills of mortality. I could tell you of such things that have happened even to myself, as well as others, with these cursed London tradesmen, as would make your hair stand on end.--But what the devil has put old Magnus into such note? he shouts as if he were trying his voice against a north-west gale of wind." Loud indeed was the roar of the old Udaller, as, worn out of patience by the schemes of improvement which the factor was now undauntedly pressing upon his consideration, he answered him, (to use an Ossianic phrase,) like a wave upon a rock, "Trees, Sir Factor--talk not to me of trees! I care not though there never be one on the island, tall enough to hang a coxcomb upon. We will have no trees but those that rise in our havens--the good trees that have yards for boughs, and standing-rigging for leaves." "But touching the draining of the lake of Braebaster, whereof I spoke to you, Master Magnus Troil," said the persevering agriculturist, "whilk I opine would be of so much consequence, there are two ways--down the Linklater glen, or by the Scalmester burn. Now, having taken the level of both"---- "There is a third way, Master Yellowley," answered the landlord. "I profess I can see none," replied Triptolemus, with as much good faith as a joker could desire in the subject of his wit, "in respect that the hill called Braebaster on the south, and ane high bank on the north, of whilk I cannot carry the name rightly in my head"---- "Do not tell us of hills and banks, Master Yellowley--there is a third way of draining the loch, and it is the only way that shall be tried in my day. You say my Lord Chamberlain and I are the joint proprietors--so be it--let each of us start an equal proportion of brandy, lime-juice, and sugar, into the loch--a ship's cargo or two will do the job--let us assemble all the jolly Udallers of the country, and in twenty-four hours you shall see dry ground where the loch of Braebaster now is." A loud laugh of applause, which for a time actually silenced Triptolemus, attended a jest so very well suited to time and place--a jolly toast was given--a merry song was sung--the ship unloaded her sweets--the pinnace made its genial rounds--the duet betwixt Magnus and Triptolemus, which had attracted the attention of the whole company from its superior vehemence, now once more sunk, and merged into the general hum of the convivial table, and the poet Halcro again resumed his usurped possession of the ear of Mordaunt Mertoun. "Whereabouts was I?" he said, with a tone which expressed to his weary listener more plainly than words could, how much of his desultory tale yet remained to be told. "O, I remember--we were just at the door of the Wits' Coffeehouse--it was set up by one"---- "Nay, but, my dear Master Halcro," said his hearer, somewhat impatiently, "I am desirous to hear of your meeting with Dryden." "What, with glorious John?--true--ay--where was I? At the Wits' Coffeehouse--Well, in at the door we got--the waiters, and so forth, staring at me; for as to Thimblethwaite, honest fellow, his was a well-known face.--I can tell you a story about that"---- "Nay, but John Dryden?" said Mordaunt, in a tone which deprecated further digression. "Ay, ay, glorious John--where was I?--Well, as we stood close by the bar, where one fellow sat grinding of coffee, and another putting up tobacco into penny parcels--a pipe and a dish cost just a penny--then and there it was that I had the first peep of him. One Dennis sat near him, who"---- "Nay, but John Dryden--what like was he?" demanded Mordaunt. "Like a little fat old man, with his own grey hair, and in a full-trimmed black suit, that sat close as a glove. Honest Thimblethwaite let no one but himself shape for glorious John, and he had a slashing hand at a sleeve, I promise you--But there is no getting a mouthful of common sense spoken here--d----n that Scotchman, he and old Magnus are at it again!" It was very true; and although the interruption did not resemble a thunder-clap, to which the former stentorian exclamation of the Udaller might have been likened, it was a close and clamorous dispute, maintained by question, answer, retort, and repartee, as closely huddled upon each other as the sounds which announce from a distance a close and sustained fire of musketry. "Hear reason, sir?" said the Udaller; "we will hear reason, and speak reason too; and if reason fall short, you shall have rhyme to boot.--Ha, my little friend Halcro!" Though cut off in the middle of his best story, (if that could be said to have a middle, which had neither beginning nor end,) the bard bristled up at the summons, like a corps of light infantry when ordered up to the support of the grenadiers, looked smart, slapped the table with his hand, and denoted his becoming readiness to back his hospitable landlord, as becomes a well-entertained guest. Triptolemus was a little daunted at this reinforcement of his adversary; he paused, like a cautious general, in the sweeping attack which he had commenced on the peculiar usages of Zetland, and spoke not again until the Udaller poked him with the insulting query, "Where is your reason now, Master Yellowley, that you were deafening me with a moment since?" "Be but patient, worthy sir," replied the agriculturist; "what on earth can you or any other man say in defence of that thing you call a plough, in this blinded country? Why, even the savage Highlandmen, in Caithness and Sutherland, can make more work, and better, with their gascromh, or whatever they call it." "But what ails you at it, sir?" said the Udaller; "let me hear your objections to it. It tills our land, and what would ye more?" "It hath but one handle or stilt," replied Triptolemus. "And who the devil," said the poet, aiming at something smart, "would wish to need a pair of stilts, if he can manage to walk with a single one?" "Or tell me," said Magnus Troil, "how it were possible for Neil of Lupness, that lost one arm by his fall from the crag of Nekbreckan, to manage a plough with two handles?" "The harness is of raw seal-skin," said Triptolemus. "It will save dressed leather," answered Magnus Troil. "It is drawn by four wretched bullocks," said the agriculturist, "that are yoked breast-fashion; and two women must follow this unhappy instrument, and complete the furrows with a couple of shovels." "Drink about, Master Yellowley," said the Udaller; "and, as you say in Scotland, 'never fash your thumb.' Our cattle are too high-spirited to let one go before the other; our men are too gentle and well-nurtured to take the working-field without the women's company; our ploughs till our land--our land bears us barley; we brew our ale, eat our bread, and make strangers welcome to their share of it. Here's to you, Master Yellowley." This was said in a tone meant to be decisive of the question; and, accordingly, Halcro whispered to Mordaunt, "That has settled the matter, and now we will get on with glorious John.--There he sat in his suit of full-trimmed black; two years due was the bill, as mine honest landlord afterwards told me,--and such an eye in his head!--none of your burning, blighting, falcon eyes, which we poets are apt to make a rout about,--but a soft, full, thoughtful, yet penetrating glance--never saw the like of it in my life, unless it were little Stephen Kleancogg's, the fiddler, at Papastow, who"---- "Nay, but John Dryden?" said Mordaunt, who, for want of better amusement, had begun to take a sort of pleasure in keeping the old gentleman to his narrative, as men herd in a restiff sheep, when they wish to catch him. He returned to his theme, with his usual phrase of "Ay, true--glorious John--Well, sir, he cast his eye, such as I have described it, on mine landlord, and 'Honest Tim,' said he, 'what hast thou got here?' and all the wits, and lords, and gentlemen, that used to crowd round him, like the wenches round a pedlar at a fair, they made way for us, and up we came to the fireside, where he had his own established chair,--I have heard it was carried to the balcony in summer, but it was by the fireside when I saw it,--so up came Tim Thimblethwaite, through the midst of them, as bold as a lion, and I followed with a small parcel under my arm, which I had taken up partly to oblige my landlord, as the shop porter was not in the way, and partly that I might be thought to have something to do there, for you are to think there was no admittance at the Wits' for strangers who had no business there.--I have heard that Sir Charles Sedley said a good thing about that"---- "Nay, but you forget glorious John," said Mordaunt. "Ay, glorious you may well call him. They talk of their Blackmore, and Shadwell, and such like,--not fit to tie the latchets of John's shoes--'Well,' he said to my landlord, 'what have you got there?' and he, bowing, I warrant, lower than he would to a duke, said he had made bold to come and show him the stuff which Lady Elizabeth had chose for her nightgown.--'And which of your geese is that, Tim, who has got it tucked under his wing?'--'He is an Orkney goose, if it please you, Mr. Dryden,' said Tim, who had wit at will, 'and he hath brought you a copy of verses for your honour to look at.'--'Is he amphibious?' said glorious John, taking the paper,--and methought I could rather have faced a battery of cannon than the crackle it gave as it opened, though he did not speak in a way to dash one neither;--and then he looked at the verses, and he was pleased to say, in a very encouraging way indeed, with a sort of good-humoured smile on his face, and certainly for a fat elderly gentleman,--for I would not compare it to Minna's smile, or Brenda's,--he had the pleasantest smile I ever saw,--'Why, Tim,' he said, 'this goose of yours will prove a swan on your hands.' With that he smiled a little, and they all laughed, and none louder than those who stood too far off to hear the jest; for every one knew when he smiled there was something worth laughing at, and so took it upon trust; and the word passed through among the young Templars, and the wits, and the smarts, and there was nothing but question on question who we were; and one French fellow was trying to tell them it was only Monsieur Tim Thimblethwaite; but he made such work with his Dumbletate and Timbletate, that I thought his explanation would have lasted"---- "As long as your own story," thought Mordaunt; but the narrative was at length finally cut short, by the strong and decided voice of the Udaller. "I will hear no more on it, Mr. Factor!" he exclaimed. "At least let me say something about the breed of horses," said Yellowley, in rather a cry-mercy tone of voice. "Your horses, my dear sir, resemble cats in size, and tigers in devilry!" "For their size," said Magnus, "they are the easier for us to get off and on them--[as Triptolemus experienced this morning, thought Mordaunt to himself]--and, as for their devilry, let no one mount them that cannot manage them." A twinge of self-conviction, on the part of the agriculturist, prevented him from reply. He darted a deprecatory glance at Mordaunt, as if for the purpose of imploring secrecy respecting his tumble; and the Udaller, who saw his advantage, although he was not aware of the cause, pursued it with the high and stern tone proper to one who had all his life been unaccustomed to meet with, and unapt to endure, opposition. "By the blood of Saint Magnus the Martyr," he said, "but you are a fine fellow, Master Factor Yellowley! You come to us from a strange land, understanding neither our laws, nor our manners, nor our language, and you propose to become governor of the country, and that we should all be your slaves!" "My pupils, worthy sir, my pupils!" said Yellowley, "and that only for your own proper advantage." "We are too old to go to school," said the Zetlander. "I tell you once more, we will sow and reap our grain as our fathers did--we will eat what God sends us, with our doors open to the stranger, even as theirs were open. If there is aught imperfect in our practice, we will amend it in time and season; but the blessed Baptist's holyday was made for light hearts and quick heels. He that speaks a word more of reason, as you call it, or any thing that looks like it, shall swallow a pint of sea-water--he shall, by this hand!--and so fill up the good ship, the Jolly Mariner of Canton, once more, for the benefit of those that will stick by her; and let the rest have a fling with the fiddlers, who have been summoning us this hour. I will warrant every wench is on tiptoe by this time. Come, Mr. Yellowley, no unkindness, man--why, man, thou feelest the rolling of the Jolly Mariner still"--(for, in truth, honest Triptolemus showed a little unsteadiness of motion, as he rose to attend his host)--"but never mind, we shall have thee find thy land-legs to reel it with yonder bonny belles. Come along, Triptolemus--let me grapple thee fast, lest thou _trip_, old Triptolemus--ha, ha, ha!" So saying, the portly though weatherbeaten hulk of the Udaller sailed off like a man-of-war that had braved a hundred gales, having his guest in tow like a recent prize. The greater part of the revellers followed their leader with loud jubilee, although there were several stanch topers, who, taking the option left them by the Udaller, remained behind to relieve the Jolly Mariner of a fresh cargo, amidst many a pledge to the health of their absent landlord, and to the prosperity of his roof-tree, with whatsoever other wishes of kindness could be devised, as an apology for another pint-bumper of noble punch. The rest soon thronged the dancing-room, an apartment which partook of the simplicity of the time and of the country. Drawing-rooms and saloons were then unknown in Scotland, save in the houses of the nobility, and of course absolutely so in Zetland; but a long, low, anomalous store-room, sometimes used for the depositation of merchandise, sometimes for putting aside lumber, and a thousand other purposes, was well known to all the youth of Dunrossness, and of many a district besides, as the scene of the merry dance, which was sustained with so much glee when Magnus Troil gave his frequent feasts. The first appearance of this ball-room might have shocked a fashionable party, assembled for the quadrille or the waltz. Low as we have stated the apartment to be, it was but imperfectly illuminated by lamps, candles, ship-lanterns, and a variety of other _candelabra_, which served to throw a dusky light upon the floor, and upon the heaps of merchandise and miscellaneous articles which were piled around; some of them stores for the winter; some, goods destined for exportation; some, the tribute of Neptune, paid at the expense of shipwrecked vessels, whose owners were unknown; some, articles of barter received by the proprietor, who, like most others at the period, was somewhat of a merchant as well as a landholder, in exchange for the fish, and other articles, the produce of his estate. All these, with the chests, boxes, casks, &c., which contained them, had been drawn aside, and piled one above the other, in order to give room for the dancers, who, light and lively as if they had occupied the most splendid saloon in the parish of St. James's, executed their national dances with equal grace and activity. The group of old men who looked on, bore no inconsiderable resemblance to a party of aged tritons, engaged in beholding the sports of the sea-nymphs; so hard a look had most of them acquired by contending with the elements, and so much did the shaggy hair and beards, which many of them cultivated after the ancient Norwegian fashion, give their heads the character of these supposed natives of the deep. The young people, on the other hand, were uncommonly handsome, tall, well-made, and shapely; the men with long fair hair, and, until broken by the weather, a fresh ruddy complexion, which, in the females, was softened into a bloom of infinite delicacy. Their natural good ear for music qualified them to second to the utmost the exertions of a band, whose strains were by no means contemptible; while the elders, who stood around or sat quiet upon the old sea-chests, which served for chairs, criticised the dancers, as they compared their execution with their own exertions in former days; or, warmed by the cup and flagon, which continued to circulate among them, snapped their fingers, and beat time with their feet to the music. Mordaunt looked upon this scene of universal mirth with the painful recollection, that he, thrust aside from his pre-eminence, no longer exercised the important duties of chief of the dancers, or office of leader of the revels, which had been assigned to the stranger Cleveland. Anxious, however, to suppress the feelings of his own disappointment, which he felt it was neither wise to entertain nor manly to display, he approached his fair neighbours, to whom he had been so acceptable at table, with the purpose of inviting one of them to become his partner in the dance. But the awfully ancient old lady, even the Lady Glowrowrum, who had only tolerated the exuberance of her nieces' mirth during the time of dinner, because her situation rendered it then impossible for her to interfere, was not disposed to permit the apprehended renewal of the intimacy implied in Mertoun's invitation. She therefore took upon herself, in the name of her two nieces, who sat pouting beside her in displeased silence, to inform Mordaunt, after thanking him for his civility, that the hands of her nieces were engaged for that evening; and, as he continued to watch the party at a little distance, he had an opportunity of being convinced that the alleged engagement was a mere apology to get rid of him, when he saw the two good-humoured sisters join the dance, under the auspices of the next young men who asked their hands. Incensed at so marked a slight, and unwilling to expose himself to another, Mordaunt Mertoun drew back from the circle of dancers, shrouded himself amongst the mass of inferior persons who crowded into the bottom of the room as spectators, and there, concealed from the observation of others, digested his own mortification as well as he could--that is to say, very ill--and with all the philosophy of his age--that is to say, with none at all. CHAPTER XV. A torch for me--let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the useless rushes with their heels: For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase-- I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. _Romeo and Juliet._ The youth, says the moralist Johnson, cares not for the boy's hobbyhorse, nor the man for the youth's mistress; and therefore the distress of Mordaunt Mertoun, when excluded from the merry dance, may seem trifling to many of my readers, who would, nevertheless, think they did well to be angry if deposed from their usual place in an assembly of a different kind. There lacked not amusement, however, for those whom the dance did not suit, or who were not happy enough to find partners to their liking. Halcro, now completely in his element, had assembled round him an audience, to whom he was declaiming his poetry with all the enthusiasm of glorious John himself, and receiving in return the usual degree of applause allowed to minstrels who recite their own rhymes--so long at least as the author is within hearing of the criticism. Halcro's poetry might indeed have interested the antiquary as well as the admirer of the Muses, for several of his pieces were translations or imitations from the Scaldic sagas, which continued to be sung by the fishermen of those islands even until a very late period; insomuch, that when Gray's poems first found their way to Orkney, the old people recognised at once, in the ode of the "Fatal Sisters," the Runic rhymes which had amused or terrified their infancy under the title of the "Magicians," and which the fishers of North Ronaldshaw, and other remote isles, used still to sing when asked for a Norse ditty.[41] Half listening, half lost in his own reflections, Mordaunt Mertoun stood near the door of the apartment, and in the outer ring of the little circle formed around old Halcro, while the bard chanted to a low, wild, monotonous air, varied only by the efforts of the singer to give interest and emphasis to particular passages, the following imitation of a Northern war-song: THE SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER. The sun is rising dimly red, The wind is wailing low and dread; From his cliff the eagle sallies, Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys; In the midst the ravens hover, Peep the wild-dogs from the cover, Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, Each in his wild accents telling, "Soon we feast on dead and dying, Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flying." Many a crest in air is streaming, Many a helmet darkly gleaming, Many an arm the axe uprears, Doom'd to hew the wood of spears. All along the crowded ranks, Horses neigh and armour clanks; Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, Louder still the bard is singing, "Gather, footmen,--gather, horsemen, To the field, ye valiant Norsemen! "Halt ye not for food or slumber, View not vantage, count not number; Jolly reapers, forward still; Grow the crop on vale or hill, Thick or scatter'd, stiff or lithe, It shall down before the scythe. Forward with your sickles bright, Reap the harvest of the fight-- Onward, footmen,--onward, horsemen, To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen! "Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, O'er you hovers Odin's daughter; Hear the voice she spreads before ye,-- Victory, and wealth, and glory; Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, Her ever-circling mead and ale, Where for eternity unite The joys of wassail and of fight. Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen!" "The poor unhappy blinded heathens!" said Triptolemus, with a sigh deep enough for a groan; "they speak of their eternal cups of ale, and I question if they kend how to manage a croft land of grain!" "The cleverer fellows they, neighbour Yellowley," answered the poet, "if they made ale without barley." "Barley!--alack-a-day!" replied the more accurate agriculturist, "who ever heard of barley in these parts? Bear, my dearest friend, bear is all they have, and wonderment it is to me that they ever see an awn of it. Ye scart the land with a bit thing ye ca' a pleugh--ye might as weel give it a ritt with the teeth of a redding-kame. O, to see the sock, and the heel, and the sole-clout of a real steady Scottish pleugh, with a chield like a Samson between the stilts, laying a weight on them would keep down a mountain; twa stately owsen, and as many broad-breasted horse in the traces, going through soil and till, and leaving a fur in the ground would carry off water like a causeyed syver! They that have seen a sight like that, have seen something to crack about in another sort, than those unhappy auld-warld stories of war and slaughter, of which the land has seen even but too mickle, for a' your singing and soughing awa in praise of such bloodthirsty doings, Master Claud Halcro." "It is a heresy," said the animated little poet, bridling and drawing himself up, as if the whole defence of the Orcadian Archipelago rested on his single arm--"It is a heresy so much as to name one's native country, if a man is not prepared when and how to defend himself--ay, and to annoy another. The time has been, that if we made not good ale and aquavitæ, we knew well enough where to find that which was ready made to our hand; but now the descendants of Sea-kings, and Champions, and Berserkars, are become as incapable of using their swords, as if they were so many women. Ye may praise them for a strong pull on an oar, or a sure foot on a skerry; but what else could glorious John himself say of ye, my good Hialtlanders, that any man would listen to?" "Spoken like an angel, most noble poet," said Cleveland, who, during an interval of the dance, stood near the party in which this conversation was held. "The old champions you talked to us about yesternight, were the men to make a harp ring--gallant fellows, that were friends to the sea, and enemies to all that sailed on it. Their ships, I suppose, were clumsy enough; but if it is true that they went upon the account as far as the Levant, I scarce believe that ever better fellows unloosed a topsail." "Ay," replied Halcro, "there you spoke them right. In those days none could call their life and means of living their own, unless they dwelt twenty miles out of sight of the blue sea. Why, they had public prayers put up in every church in Europe, for deliverance from the ire of the Northmen. In France and England, ay, and in Scotland too, for as high as they hold their head now-a-days, there was not a bay or a haven, but it was freer to our forefathers than to the poor devils of natives; and now we cannot, forsooth, so much as grow our own barley without Scottish help"--(here he darted a sarcastic glance at the factor)--"I would I saw the time we were to measure arms with them again!" "Spoken like a hero once more," said Cleveland. "Ah!" continued the little bard, "I would it were possible to see our barks, once the water-dragons of the world, swimming with the black raven standard waving at the topmast, and their decks glimmering with arms, instead of being heaped up with stockfish--winning with our fearless hands what the niggard soil denies--paying back all old scorn and modern injury--reaping where we never sowed, and felling what we never planted--living and laughing through the world, and smiling when we were summoned to quit it!" So spoke Claud Halcro, in no serious, or at least most certainly in no sober mood, his brain (never the most stable) whizzing under the influence of fifty well-remembered sagas, besides five bumpers of usquebaugh and brandy; and Cleveland, between jest and earnest, clapped him on the shoulder, and again repeated, "Spoken like a hero!" "Spoken like a fool, I think," said Magnus Troil, whose attention had been also attracted by the vehemence of the little bard--"where would you cruize upon, or against whom?--we are all subjects of one realm, I trow, and I would have you to remember, that your voyage may bring up at Execution-dock.--I like not the Scots--no offence, Mr. Yellowley--that is, I would like them well enough if they would stay quiet in their own land, and leave us at peace with our own people, and manners, and fashions; and if they would but abide there till I went to harry them like a mad old Berserkar, I would leave them in peace till the day of judgment. With what the sea sends us, and the land lends us, as the proverb says, and a set of honest neighbourly folks to help us to consume it, so help me, Saint Magnus, as I think we are even but too happy!" "I know what war is," said an old man, "and I would as soon sail through Sumburgh-roost in a cockle-shell, or in a worse loom, as I would venture there again." "And, pray, what wars knew your valour?" said Halcro, who, though forbearing to contradict his landlord from a sense of respect, was not a whit inclined to abandon his argument to any meaner authority. "I was pressed," answered the old Triton, "to serve under Montrose, when he came here about the sixteen hundred and fifty-one, and carried a sort of us off, will ye nill ye, to get our throats cut in the wilds of Strathnavern[42](_k_)--I shall never forget it--we had been hard put to it for victuals--what would I have given for a luncheon of Burgh-Westra beef--ay, or a mess of sour sillocks?--When our Highlandmen brought in a dainty drove of kyloes, much ceremony there was not, for we shot and felled, and flayed, and roasted, and broiled, as it came to every man's hand; till, just as our beards were at the greasiest, we heard--God preserve us--a tramp of horse, then twa or three drapping shots,--then came a full salvo,--and then, when the officers were crying on us to stand, and maist of us looking which way we might run away, down they broke, horse and foot, with old John Urry, or Hurry,[43] or whatever they called him--he hurried us that day, and worried us to boot--and we began to fall as thick as the stots that we were felling five minutes before." "And Montrose," said the soft voice of the graceful Minna; "what became of Montrose, or how looked he?" "Like a lion with the hunters before him," answered the old gentleman; "but I looked not twice his way, for my own lay right over the hill." "And so you left him?" said Minna, in a tone of the deepest contempt. "It was no fault of mine, Mistress Minna," answered the old man, somewhat out of countenance; "but I was there with no choice of my own; and, besides, what good could I have done?--all the rest were running like sheep, and why should I have staid?" "You might have died with him," said Minna. "And lived with him to all eternity, in immortal verse!" added Claud Halcro. "I thank you, Mistress Minna," replied the plain-dealing Zetlander; "and I thank you, my old friend Claud;--but I would rather drink both your healths in this good bicker of ale, like a living man as I am, than that you should be making songs in my honour, for having died forty or fifty years agone. But what signified it,--run or fight, 'twas all one;--they took Montrose, poor fellow, for all his doughty deeds, and they took me that did no doughty deeds at all; and they hanged him, poor man, and as for me"---- "I trust in Heaven they flogged and pickled you," said Cleveland, worn out of patience with the dull narrative of the peaceful Zetlander's poltroonery, of which he seemed so wondrous little ashamed. "Flog horses, and pickle beef," said Magnus; "Why, you have not the vanity to think, that, with all your quarterdeck airs, you will make poor old neighbour Haagen ashamed that he was not killed some scores of years since? You have looked on death yourself, my doughty young friend, but it was with the eyes of a young man who wishes to be thought of; but we are a peaceful people,--peaceful, that is, as long as any one should be peaceful, and that is till some one has the impudence to wrong us, or our neighbours; and then, perhaps, they may not find our northern blood much cooler in our veins than was that of the old Scandinavians that gave us our names and lineage.--Get ye along, get ye along to the sword-dance,[44] that the strangers that are amongst us may see that our hands and our weapons are not altogether unacquainted even yet." A dozen cutlasses, selected hastily from an old arm-chest, and whose rusted hue bespoke how seldom they left the sheath, armed the same number of young Zetlanders, with whom mingled six maidens, led by Minna Troil; and the minstrelsy instantly commenced a tune appropriate to the ancient Norwegian war-dance, the evolutions of which are perhaps still practised in those remote islands. [Illustration] The first movement was graceful and majestic, the youths holding their swords erect, and without much gesture; but the tune, and the corresponding motions of the dancers, became gradually more and more rapid,--they clashed their swords together, in measured time, with a spirit which gave the exercise a dangerous appearance in the eye of the spectator, though the firmness, justice, and accuracy, with which the dancers kept time with the stroke of their weapons, did, in truth, ensure its safety. The most singular part of the exhibition was the courage exhibited by the female performers, who now, surrounded by the swordsmen, seemed like the Sabine maidens in the hands of their Roman lovers; now, moving under the arch of steel which the young men had formed, by crossing their weapons over the heads of their fair partners, resembled the band of Amazons when they first joined in the Pyrrhic dance with the followers of Theseus. But by far the most striking and appropriate figure was that of Minna Troil, whom Halcro had long since entitled the Queen of Swords, and who, indeed, moved amidst the swordsmen with an air, which seemed to hold all the drawn blades as the proper accompaniments of her person, and the implements of her pleasure. And when the mazes of the dance became more intricate, when the close and continuous clash of the weapons made some of her companions shrink, and show signs of fear, her cheek, her lip, and her eye, seemed rather to announce, that, at the moment when the weapons flashed fastest, and rung sharpest around her, she was most completely self-possessed, and in her own element. Last of all, when the music had ceased, and she remained for an instant upon the floor by herself, as the rule of the dance required, the swordsmen and maidens, who departed from around her, seemed the guards and the train of some princess, who, dismissed by her signal, were leaving her for a time to solitude. Her own look and attitude, wrapped, as she probably was, in some vision of the imagination, corresponded admirably with the ideal dignity which the spectators ascribed to her; but, almost immediately recollecting herself, she blushed, as if conscious she had been, though but for an instant, the object of undivided attention, and gave her hand gracefully to Cleveland, who, though he had not joined in the dance, assumed the duty of conducting her to her seat. As they passed, Mordaunt Mertoun might observe that Cleveland whispered into Minna's ear, and that her brief reply was accompanied with even more discomposure of countenance than she had manifested when encountering the gaze of the whole assembly. Mordaunt's suspicions were strongly awakened by what he observed, for he knew Minna's character well, and with what equanimity and indifference she was in the custom of receiving the usual compliments and gallantries with which her beauty and her situation rendered her sufficiently familiar. "Can it be possible she really loves this stranger?" was the unpleasant thought that instantly shot across Mordaunt's mind;--"And if she does, what is my interest in the matter?" was the second; and which was quickly followed by the reflection, that though he claimed no interest at any time but as a friend, and though that interest was now withdrawn, he was still, in consideration of their former intimacy, entitled both to be sorry and angry at her for throwing away her affections on one he judged unworthy of her. In this process of reasoning, it is probable that a little mortified vanity, or some indescribable shade of selfish regret, might be endeavouring to assume the disguise of disinterested generosity; but there is so much of base alloy in our very best (unassisted) thoughts, that it is melancholy work to criticise too closely the motives of our most worthy actions; at least we would recommend to every one to let those of his neighbours pass current, however narrowly he may examine the purity of his own. The sword-dance was succeeded by various other specimens of the same exercise, and by songs, to which the singers lent their whole soul, while the audience were sure, as occasion offered, to unite in some favourite chorus. It is upon such occasions that music, though of a simple and even rude character, finds its natural empire over the generous bosom, and produces that strong excitement which cannot be attained by the most learned compositions of the first masters, which are caviare to the common ear, although, doubtless, they afford a delight, exquisite in its kind, to those whose natural capacity and education have enabled them to comprehend and relish those difficult and complicated combinations of harmony. It was about midnight when a knocking at the door of the mansion, with the sound of the _Gue_ and the _Langspiel_, announced, by their tinkling chime, the arrival of fresh revellers, to whom, according to the hospitable custom of the country, the apartments were instantly thrown open. FOOTNOTES: [41] See Note I.--Norse Fragments. [42] Montrose, in his last and ill-advised attempt to invade Scotland, augmented his small army of Danes and Scottish Royalists, by some bands of raw troops, hastily levied, or rather pressed into his service, in the Orkney and Zetland Isles, who, having little heart either to the cause or manner of service, behaved but indifferently when they came into action. [43] Here, as afterwards remarked in the text, the Zetlander's memory deceived him grossly. Sir John Urry, a brave soldier of fortune, was at that time in Montrose's army, and made prisoner along with him. He had changed so often that the mistake is pardonable. After the action, he was executed by the Covenanters; and "Wind-changing Warwick then could change no more" Strachan commanded the body by which Montrose was routed. [44] Note VII.--The Sword-Dance.(_l_) CHAPTER XVI. --------My mind misgives, Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels. _Romeo and Juliet._ The new-comers were, according to the frequent custom of such frolickers all over the world, disguised in a sort of masquing habits, and designed to represent the Tritons and Mermaids, with whom ancient tradition and popular belief have peopled the northern seas. The former, called by Zetlanders of that time, Shoupeltins, were represented by young men grotesquely habited, with false hair, and beards made of flax, and chaplets composed of sea-ware interwoven with shells, and other marine productions, with which also were decorated their light-blue or greenish mantles of wadmaal, repeatedly before-mentioned. They had fish-spears, and other emblems of their assumed quality, amongst which the classical taste of Claud Halcro, by whom the masque was arranged, had not forgotten the conch-shells, which were stoutly and hoarsely winded, from time to time, by one or two of the aquatic deities, to the great annoyance of all who stood near them. The Nereids and Water-nymphs who attended on this occasion, displayed, as usual, a little more taste and ornament than was to be seen amongst their male attendants. Fantastic garments of green silk, and other materials of superior cost and fashion, had been contrived, so as to imitate their idea of the inhabitants of the waters, and, at the same time, to show the shape and features of the fair wearers to the best advantage. The bracelets and shells, which adorned the neck, arms, and ankles of the pretty Mermaidens, were, in some cases, intermixed with real pearls; and the appearance, upon the whole, was such as might have done no discredit to the court of Amphitrite, especially when the long bright locks, blue eyes, fair complexions, and pleasing features of the maidens of Thule, were taken into consideration. We do not indeed pretend to aver, that any of these seeming Mermaids had so accurately imitated the real siren, as commentators have supposed those attendant on Cleopatra did, who, adopting the fish's train of their original, were able, nevertheless, to make their "bends," or "ends," (said commentators cannot tell which,) "adornings."[45] Indeed, had they not left their extremities in their natural state, it would have been impossible for the Zetland sirens to have executed the very pretty dance, with which they rewarded the company for the ready admission which had been granted to them. It was soon discovered that these masquers were no strangers, but a part of the guests, who, stealing out a little time before, had thus disguised themselves, in order to give variety to the mirth of the evening. The muse of Claud Halcro, always active on such occasions, had supplied them with an appropriate song, of which we may give the following specimen. The song was alternate betwixt a Nereid or Mermaid, and a Merman or Triton--the males and females on either part forming a semi-chorus, which accompanied and bore burden to the principal singer. I. MERMAID. Fathoms deep beneath the wave, Stringing beads of glistering pearl, Singing the achievements brave Of many an old Norwegian earl; Dwelling where the tempest's raving Falls as light upon our ear, As the sigh of lover, craving Pity from his lady dear, Children of wild Thule, we, From the deep caves of the sea, As the lark springs from the lea, Hither come, to share your glee. II. MERMAN. From reining of the water-horse, That bounded till the waves were foaming, Watching the infant tempest's course, Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming; From winding charge-notes on the shell, When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell, When the winds and waves are cruel; Children of wild Thule, we Have plough'd such furrows on the sea As the steer draws on the lea, And hither we come to share your glee. III. MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. We heard you in our twilight caves, A hundred fathom deep below, For notes of joy can pierce the waves, That drown each sound of war and woe. Those who dwell beneath the sea Love the sons of Thule well; Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we Dance, and song, and sounding shell. Children of dark Thule, know, Those who dwell by haaf and voe, Where your daring shallops row, Come to share the festal show. The final chorus was borne by the whole voices, excepting those carrying the conch-shells, who had been trained to blow them in a sort of rude accompaniment, which had a good effect. The poetry, as well as the performance of the masquers, received great applause from all who pretended to be judges of such matters; but above all, from Triptolemus Yellowley, who, his ear having caught the agricultural sounds of plough and furrow, and his brain being so well drenched that it could only construe the words in their most literal acceptation, declared roundly, and called Mordaunt to bear witness, that, though it was a shame to waste so much good lint as went to form the Tritons' beards and periwigs, the song contained the only words of common sense which he had heard all that long day. But Mordaunt had no time to answer the appeal, being engaged in attending with the utmost vigilance to the motions of one of the female masquers, who had given him a private signal as they entered, which induced him, though uncertain who she might prove to be, to expect some communication from her of importance. The siren who had so boldly touched his arm, and had accompanied the gesture with an expression of eye which bespoke his attention, was disguised with a good deal more care than her sister-masquers, her mantle being loose, and wide enough to conceal her shape completely, and her face hidden beneath a silk mask. He observed that she gradually detached herself from the rest of the masquers, and at length placed herself, as if for the advantage of the air, near the door of a chamber which remained open, looked earnestly at him again, and then taking an opportunity, when the attention of the company was fixed upon the rest of her party, she left the apartment. Mordaunt did not hesitate instantly to follow his mysterious guide, for such we may term the masquer, as she paused to let him see the direction she was about to take, and then walked swiftly towards the shore of the voe, or salt-water lake, now lying full before them, its small summer-waves glistening and rippling under the influence of a broad moonlight, which, added to the strong twilight of those regions during the summer solstice, left no reason to regret the absence of the sun, the path of whose setting was still visible on the waves of the west, while the horizon on the east side was already beginning to glimmer with the lights of dawn. Mordaunt had therefore no difficulty in keeping sight of his disguised guide, as she tripped it over height and hollow to the sea-side, and, winding among the rocks, led the way to the spot where his own labours, during the time of his former intimacy at Burgh-Westra, had constructed a sheltered and solitary seat, where the daughters of Magnus were accustomed to spend, when the weather was suitable, a good deal of their time. Here, then, was to be the place of explanation; for the masquer stopped, and, after a moment's hesitation, sat down on the rustic settle. But, from the lips of whom was he to receive it? Norna had first occurred to him; but her tall figure and slow majestic step were entirely different from the size and gait of the more fairy-formed siren, who had preceded him with as light a trip as if she had been a real Nereid, who, having remained too late upon the shore, was, under the dread of Amphitrite's displeasure, hastening to regain her native element. Since it was not Norna, it could be only, he thought, Brenda, who thus singled him out; and when she had seated herself upon the bench, and taken the mask from her face, Brenda it accordingly proved to be. Mordaunt had certainly done nothing to make him dread her presence; and yet, such is the influence of bashfulness over the ingenuous youth of both sexes, that he experienced all the embarrassment of one who finds himself unexpectedly placed before a person who is justly offended with him. Brenda felt no less embarrassment; but as she had sought this interview, and was sensible it must be a brief one, she was compelled, in spite of herself, to begin the conversation. "Mordaunt," she said, with a hesitating voice; then correcting herself, she proceeded--"You must be surprised, Mr. Mertoun, that I should have taken this uncommon freedom." "It was not till this morning, Brenda," replied Mordaunt, "that any mark of friendship or intimacy from you or from your sister could have surprised me. I am far more astonished that you should shun me without reason for so many hours, than that you should now allow me an interview. In the name of Heaven, Brenda, in what have I offended you? or why are we on these unusual terms?" "May it not be enough to say," replied Brenda, looking downward, "that it is my father's pleasure?" "No, it is not enough," returned Mertoun. "Your father cannot have so suddenly altered his whole thoughts of me, and his whole actions towards me, without acting under the influence of some strong delusion. I ask you but to explain of what nature it is; for I will be contented to be lower in your esteem than the meanest hind in these islands, if I cannot show that his change of opinion is only grounded upon some infamous deception, or some extraordinary mistake." "It may be so," said Brenda--"I hope it is so--that I do hope it is so, my desire to see you thus in private may well prove to you. But it is difficult--in short, it is impossible for me to explain to you the cause of my father's resentment. Norna has spoken with him concerning it boldly, and I fear they parted in displeasure; and you well know no light matter could cause that." "I have observed," said Mordaunt, "that your father is most attentive to Norna's counsel, and more complaisant to her peculiarities than to those of others--this I have observed, though he is no willing believer in the supernatural qualities to which she lays claim." "They are related distantly," answered Brenda, "and were friends in youth--nay, as I have heard, it was once supposed they would have been married; but Norna's peculiarities showed themselves immediately on her father's death, and there was an end of that matter, if ever there was any thing in it. But it is certain my father regards her with much interest; and it is, I fear, a sign how deeply his prejudices respecting you must be rooted, since they have in some degree quarrelled on your account." "Now, blessings upon you, Brenda, that you have called them prejudices," said Mertoun, warmly and hastily--"a thousand blessings on you! You were ever gentle-hearted--you could not have maintained even the show of unkindness long." "It was indeed but a show," said Brenda, softening gradually into the familiar tone in which they had conversed from infancy; "I could never think, Mordaunt,--never, that is, seriously believe, that you could say aught unkind of Minna or of me." "And who dares to say I have?" said Mordaunt, giving way to the natural impetuosity of his disposition--"Who dares to say that I have, and ventures at the same time to hope that I will suffer his tongue to remain in safety betwixt his jaws? By Saint Magnus the Martyr, I will feed the hawks with it!" "Nay, now," said Brenda, "your anger only terrifies me, and will force me to leave you." "Leave me," said he, "without telling me either the calumny, or the name of the villainous calumniator!" "O, there are more than one," answered Brenda, "that have possessed my father with an opinion--which I cannot myself tell you--but there are more than one who say"---- "Were they hundreds, Brenda, I will do no less to them than I have said--Sacred Martyr!--to accuse me of speaking unkindly of those whom I most respected and valued under Heaven--I will back to the apartment this instant, and your father shall do me right before all the world." "Do not go, for the love of Heaven!" said Brenda; "do not go, as you would not render me the most unhappy wretch in existence!" "Tell me then, at least, if I guess aright," said Mordaunt, "when I name this Cleveland for one of those who have slandered me?" "No, no," said Brenda, vehemently, "you run from one error into another more dangerous. You say you are my friend:--I am willing to be yours:--be but still for a moment, and hear what I have to say;--our interview has lasted but too long already, and every additional moment brings additional danger with it." "Tell me, then," said Mertoun, much softened by the poor girl's extreme apprehension and distress, "what it is that you require of me; and believe me, it is impossible for you to ask aught that I will not do my very uttermost to comply with." "Well, then--this Captain," said Brenda, "this Cleveland"---- "I knew it, by Heaven!" said Mordaunt; "my mind assured me that that fellow was, in one way or other, at the bottom of all this mischief and misunderstanding!" "If you cannot be silent, and patient, for an instant," replied Brenda, "I must instantly quit you: what I meant to say had no relation to you, but to another,--in one word, to my sister Minna. I have nothing to say concerning her dislike to you, but an anxious tale to tell concerning his attention to her." "It is obvious, striking, and marked," said Mordaunt; "and, unless my eyes deceive me, it is received as welcome, if, indeed, it is not returned." "That is the very cause of my fear," said Brenda. "I, too, was struck with the external appearance, frank manners, and romantic conversation of this man." "His appearance!" said Mordaunt; "he is stout and well-featured enough, to be sure; but, as old Sinclair of Quendale said to the Spanish admiral, 'Farcie on his face! I have seen many a fairer hang on the Borough-moor.'--From his manners, he might be captain of a privateer; and by his conversation, the trumpeter to his own puppetshow; for he speaks of little else than his own exploits." "You are mistaken," answered Brenda; "he speaks but too well on all that he has seen and learned; besides, he has really been in many distant countries, and in many gallant actions, and he can tell them with as much spirit as modesty. You would think you saw the flash and heard the report of the guns. And he has other tones of talking too--about the delightful trees and fruits of distant climates; and how the people wear no dress, through the whole year, half so warm as our summer gowns, and, indeed, put on little except cambric and muslin." "Upon my word, Brenda, he does seem to understand the business of amusing young ladies," replied Mordaunt. "He does, indeed," said Brenda, with great simplicity. "I assure you that, at first, I liked him better than Minna did; and yet, though she is so much cleverer than I am, I know more of the world than she does; for I have seen more of cities, having been once at Kirkwall; besides that I was thrice at Lerwick, when the Dutch ships were there, and so I should not be very easily deceived in people." "And pray, Brenda," said Mertoun, "what was it that made you think less favourably of this young fellow, who seems to be so captivating?" "Why," said Brenda, after a moment's reflection, "at first he was much livelier; and the stories he told were not quite so melancholy, or so terrible; and he laughed and danced more." "And, perhaps, at that time, danced oftener with Brenda than with her sister?" added Mordaunt. "No--I am not sure of that," said Brenda; "and yet, to speak plain, I could have no suspicion of him at all while he was attending quite equally to us both; for you know that then he could have been no more to us than yourself, Mordaunt Mertoun, or young Swaraster, or any other young man in the islands." "But, why then," said Mordaunt, "should you not see him, with patience, become acquainted with your sister?--He is wealthy, or seems to be so at least. You say he is accomplished and pleasant;--what else would you desire in a lover for Minna?" "Mordaunt, you forget who we are," said the maiden, assuming an air of consequence, which sat as gracefully upon her simplicity, as did the different tone in which she had spoken hitherto. "This is a little world of ours, this Zetland, inferior, perhaps, in soil and climate to other parts of the earth, at least so strangers say; but it is our own little world, and we, the daughters of Magnus Troil, hold a first rank in it. It would I think, little become us, who are descended from Sea-kings and Jarls, to throw ourselves away upon a stranger, who comes to our coast, like the eider-duck in spring, from we know not whence, and may leave it in autumn, to go we know not where." "And who may yet entice a Zetland golden-eye to accompany his migration," said Mertoun. "I will hear nothing light on such a subject," replied Brenda, indignantly; "Minna, like myself, is the daughter of Magnus Troil, the friend of strangers, but the Father of Hialtland. He gives them the hospitality they need; but let not the proudest of them think that they can, at their pleasure, ally with his house." She said this in a tone of considerable warmth, which she instantly softened, as she added, "No, Mordaunt, do not suppose that Minna Troil is capable of so far forgetting what she owes to her father and her father's blood, as to think of marrying this Cleveland; but she may lend an ear to him so long as to destroy her future happiness. She has that sort of mind, into which some feelings sink deeply;--you remember how Ulla Storlson used to go, day by day, to the top of Vossdale-head, to look for her lover's ship that was never to return? When I think of her slow step, her pale cheek, her eye, that grew dimmer and dimmer, like the lamp that is half extinguished for lack of oil,--when I remember the fluttered look, of something like hope, with which she ascended the cliff at morning, and the deep dead despair which sat on her forehead when she returned,--when I think on all this, can you wonder that I fear for Minna, whose heart is formed to entertain, with such deep-rooted fidelity, any affection that may be implanted in it?" "I do not wonder," said Mordaunt, eagerly sympathizing with the poor girl; for, besides the tremulous expression of her voice, the light could almost show him the tear which trembled in her eye, as she drew the picture to which her fancy had assimilated her sister,--"I do not wonder that you should feel and fear whatever the purest affection can dictate; and if you can but point out to me in what I can serve your sisterly love, you shall find me as ready to venture my life, if necessary, as I have been to go out on the crag to get you the eggs of the guillemot; and, believe me, that whatever has been told to your father or yourself, of my entertaining the slightest thoughts of disrespect or unkindness, is as false as a fiend could devise." "I believe it," said Brenda, giving him her hand; "I believe it, and my bosom is lighter, now I have renewed my confidence in so old a friend. How you can aid us, I know not; but it was by the advice, I may say by the commands, of Norna, that I have ventured to make this communication; and I almost wonder," she added, as she looked around her, "that I have had courage to carry me through it. At present you know all that I can tell you of the risk in which my sister stands. Look after this Cleveland--beware how you quarrel with him, since you must so surely come by the worst with an experienced soldier." "I do not exactly understand," said the youth, "how that should so surely be. This I know, that with the good limbs and good heart that God hath given me, ay, and with a good cause to boot--I am little afraid of any quarrel which Cleveland can fix upon me." "Then, if not for your own sake, for Minna's sake," said Brenda--"for my father's--for mine--for all our sakes, avoid any strife with him, but be contented to watch him, and, if possible, to discover who he is, and what are his intentions towards us. He has talked of going to Orkney, to enquire after the consort with whom he sailed; but day after day, and week after week passes, and he goes not; and while he keeps my father company over the bottle, and tells Minna romantic stories of foreign people, and distant wars, in wild and unknown regions, the time glides on, and the stranger, of whom we know nothing except that he is one, becomes gradually closer and more inseparably intimate in our society.--And now, farewell. Norna hopes to make your peace with my father, and entreats you not to leave Burgh-Westra to-morrow, however cold he and my sister may appear towards you. I too," she said, stretching her hand towards him, "must wear a face of cold friendship as towards an unwelcome visitor, but at heart we are still Brenda and Mordaunt. And now separate quickly, for we must not be seen together." She stretched her hand to him, but withdrew it in some slight confusion, laughing and blushing, when, by a natural impulse, he was about to press it to his lips. He endeavoured for a moment to detain her, for the interview had for him a degree of fascination, which, as often as he had before been alone with Brenda, he had never experienced. But she extricated herself from him, and again signing an adieu, and pointing out to him a path different from that which she was herself about to take, tripped towards the house, and was soon hidden from his view by the acclivity. Mordaunt stood gazing after her in a state of mind, to which, as yet, he had been a stranger. The dubious neutral ground between love and friendship may be long and safely trodden, until he who stands upon it is suddenly called upon to recognise the authority of the one or the other power; and then it most frequently happens, that the party who for years supposed himself only a friend, finds himself at once transformed into a lover. That such a change in Mordaunt's feelings should take place from this date, although he himself was unable exactly to distinguish its nature, was to be expected. He found himself at once received, with the most unsuspicious frankness, into the confidence of a beautiful and fascinating young woman, by whom he had, so short a time before, imagined himself despised and disliked; and, if any thing could make a change, in itself so surprising and so pleasing, yet more intoxicating, it was the guileless and open-hearted simplicity of Brenda, that cast an enchantment over every thing which she did or said. The scene, too, might have had its effect, though there was little occasion for its aid. But a fair face looks yet fairer under the light of the moon, and a sweet voice sounds yet sweeter among the whispering sounds of a summer night. Mordaunt, therefore, who had by this time returned to the house, was disposed to listen with unusual patience and complacency to the enthusiastic declamation pronounced upon moonlight by Claud Halcro, whose ecstasies had been awakened on the subject by a short turn in the open air, undertaken to qualify the vapours of the good liquor, which he had not spared during the festival. "The sun, my boy," he said, "is every wretched labourer's day-lantern--it comes glaring yonder out of the east, to summon up a whole world to labour and to misery; whereas the merry moon lights all of us to mirth and to love." "And to madness, or she is much belied," said Mordaunt, by way of saying something. "Let it be so," answered Halcro, "so she does not turn us melancholy-mad.--My dear young friend, the folks of this painstaking world are far too anxious about possessing all their wits, or having them, as they say, about them. At least I know I have been often called half-witted, and I am sure I have gone through the world as well as if I had double the quantity. But stop--where was I? O, touching and concerning the moon--why, man, she is the very soul of love and poetry. I question if there was ever a true lover in existence who had not got at least as far as 'O thou,' in a sonnet in her praise." "The moon," said the factor, who was now beginning to speak very thick, "ripens corn, at least the old folk said so--and she fills nuts also, whilk is of less matter--_sparge nuces, pueri_." "A fine, a fine," said the Udaller, who was now in his altitudes; "the factor speaks Greek--by the bones of my holy namesake, Saint Magnus, he shall drink off the yawl full of punch, unless he gives us a song on the spot!" "Too much water drowned the miller," answered Triptolemus. "My brain has more need of draining than of being drenched with more liquor." "Sing, then," said the despotic landlord, "for no one shall speak any other language here, save honest Norse, jolly Dutch, or Danske, or broad Scots, at the least of it. So, Eric Scambester, produce the yawl, and fill it to the brim, as a charge for demurrage." Ere the vessel could reach the agriculturist, he, seeing it under way, and steering towards him by short tacks, (for Scambester himself was by this time not over steady in his course,) made a desperate effort, and began to sing, or rather to croak forth, a Yorkshire harvest-home ballad, which his father used to sing when he was a little mellow, and which went to the tune of "Hey Dobbin, away with the waggon." The rueful aspect of the singer, and the desperately discordant tones of his voice, formed so delightful a contrast with the jollity of the words and tune, that honest Triptolemus afforded the same sort of amusement which a reveller might give, by appearing on a festival-day in the holyday-coat of his grandfather. The jest concluded the evening, for even the mighty and strong-headed Magnus himself had confessed the influence of the sleepy god. The guests went off as they best might, each to his separate crib and resting place, and in a short time the mansion, which was of late so noisy, was hushed into perfect silence. FOOTNOTES: [45] See some admirable discussion on this passage, in the Variorum Shakspeare. CHAPTER XVII. They man their boats, and all the young men arm, With whatsoever might the monsters harm; Pikes, halberds, spits, and darts, that wound afar, The tools of peace, and implements of war. Now was the time for vigorous lads to show What love or honour could incite them to;-- A goodly theatre, where rocks are round With reverend age and lovely lasses crown'd. _Battle of the Summer Islands._ The morning which succeeds such a feast as that of Magnus Troil, usually lacks a little of the zest which seasoned the revels of the preceding day, as the fashionable reader may have observed at a public breakfast during the race-week in a country town; for, in what is called the best society, these lingering moments are usually spent by the company, each apart in their own dressing-rooms. At Burgh-Westra, it will readily be believed, no such space for retirement was afforded; and the lasses, with their paler cheeks, the elder dames, with many a wink and yawn, were compelled to meet with their male companions (headaches and all) just three hours after they had parted from each other. Eric Scambester had done all that man could do to supply the full means of diverting the ennui of the morning meal. The board groaned with rounds of hung beef, made after the fashion of Zetland--with pasties--with baked meats--with fish, dressed and cured in every possible manner; nay, with the foreign delicacies of tea, coffee, and chocolate; for, as we have already had occasion to remark, the situation of these islands made them early acquainted with various articles of foreign luxury, which were, as yet, but little known in Scotland, where, at a much later period than that we write of, one pound of green tea was dressed like cabbage, and another converted into a vegetable sauce for salt beef, by the ignorance of the good housewives to whom they had been sent as rare presents. Besides these preparations, the table exhibited whatever mighty potions are resorted to by _bons vivans_, under the facetious name of a "hair of the dog that bit you." There was the potent Irish Usquebaugh--right Nantz--genuine Schiedamm--Aquavitæ from Caithness--and Golden Wasser from Hamburgh; there was rum of formidable antiquity, and cordials from the Leeward Islands. After these details, it were needless to mention the stout home-brewed ale--the German mum, and Schwartz beer--and still more would it be beneath our dignity to dwell upon the innumerable sorts of pottage and flummery, together with the bland, and various preparations of milk, for those who preferred thinner potations. No wonder that the sight of so much good cheer awakened the appetite and raised the spirits of the fatigued revellers. The young men began immediately to seek out their partners of the preceding evening, and to renew the small talk which had driven the night so merrily away; while Magnus, with his stout old Norse kindred, encouraged, by precept and example, those of elder days and graver mood, to a substantial flirtation with the good things before them. Still, however, there was a long period to be filled up before dinner; for the most protracted breakfast cannot well last above an hour; and it was to be feared that Claud Halcro meditated the occupation of this vacant morning with a formidable recitation of his own verses, besides telling, at its full length, the whole history of his introduction to glorious John Dryden. But fortune relieved the guests of Burgh-Westra from this threatened infliction, by sending them means of amusement peculiarly suited to their taste and habits. Most of the guests were using their toothpicks, some were beginning to talk of what was to be done next, when, with haste in his step, fire in his eye, and a harpoon in his hand, Eric Scambester came to announce to the company, that there was a whale on shore, or nearly so, at the throat of the voe! Then you might have seen such a joyous, boisterous, and universal bustle, as only the love of sport, so deeply implanted in our nature, can possibly inspire. A set of country squires, about to beat for the first woodcocks of the season, were a comparison as petty, in respect to the glee, as in regard to the importance of the object; the battue, upon a strong cover in Ettrick Forest, for the destruction of the foxes;(_m_) the insurrection of the sportsmen of the Lennox, when one of the Duke's deer gets out from Inch-Mirran; nay, the joyous rally of the fox-chase itself, with all its blithe accompaniments of hound and horn, fall infinitely short of the animation with which the gallant sons of Thule set off to encounter the monster, whom the sea had sent for their amusement at so opportune a conjuncture. The multifarious stores of Burgh-Westra were rummaged hastily for all sorts of arms, which could be used on such an occasion. Harpoons, swords, pikes, and halberds, fell to the lot of some; others contented themselves with hay-forks, spits, and whatever else could be found, that was at once long and sharp. Thus hastily equipped, one division, under the command of Captain Cleveland, hastened to man the boats which lay in the little haven, while the rest of the party hurried by land to the scene of action. Poor Triptolemus was interrupted in a plan, which he, too, had formed against the patience of the Zetlanders, and which was to have consisted in a lecture upon the agriculture, and the capabilities of the country, by this sudden hubbub, which put an end at once to Halcro's poetry, and to his no less formidable prose. It may be easily imagined, that he took very little interest in the sport which was so suddenly substituted for his lucubrations, and he would not even have deigned to have looked upon the active scene which was about to take place, had he not been stimulated thereunto by the exhortations of Mistress Baby. "Pit yoursell forward, man," said that provident person, "pit yoursell forward--wha kens whare a blessing may light?--they say that a' men share and share equals-aquals in the creature's ulzie, and a pint o't wad be worth siller, to light the cruise in the lang dark nights that they speak of. Pit yoursell forward, man--there's a graip to ye--faint heart never wan fair lady--wha kens but what, when it's fresh, it may eat weel eneugh, and spare butter?" What zeal was added to Triptolemus's motions, by the prospect of eating fresh train-oil, instead of butter, we know not; but, as better might not be, he brandished the rural implement (a stable-fork) with which he was armed, and went down to wage battle with the whale. The situation in which the enemy's ill fate had placed him, was particularly favourable to the enterprise of the islanders. A tide of unusual height had carried the animal over a large bar of sand, into the voe or creek in which he was now lying. So soon as he found the water ebbing, he became sensible of his danger, and had made desperate efforts to get over the shallow water, where the waves broke on the bar; but hitherto he had rather injured than mended his condition, having got himself partly aground, and lying therefore particularly exposed to the meditated attack. At this moment the enemy came down upon him. The front ranks consisted of the young and hardy, armed in the miscellaneous manner we have described; while, to witness and animate their efforts, the young women, and the elderly persons of both sexes, took their place among the rocks, which overhung the scene of action. As the boats had to double a little headland, ere they opened the mouth of the voe, those who came by land to the shores of the inlet, had time to make the necessary reconnoissances upon the force and situation of the enemy, on whom they were about to commence a simultaneous attack by land and sea. This duty, the stout-hearted and experienced general, for so the Udaller might be termed, would intrust to no eyes but his own; and, indeed, his external appearance, and his sage conduct, rendered him alike qualified for the command which he enjoyed. His gold-laced hat was exchanged for a bearskin cap, his suit of blue broadcloth, with its scarlet lining, and loops, and frogs of bullion, had given place to a red flannel jacket, with buttons of black horn, over which he wore a seal-skin shirt curiously seamed and plaited on the bosom, such as are used by the Esquimaux, and sometimes by the Greenland whale-fishers. Sea-boots of a formidable size completed his dress, and in his hand he held a large whaling-knife, which he brandished, as if impatient to employ it in the operation of _flinching_ the huge animal which lay before them,--that is, the act of separating its flesh from its bones. Upon closer examination, however, he was obliged to confess, that the sport to which he had conducted his friends, however much it corresponded with the magnificent scale of his hospitality, was likely to be attended with its own peculiar dangers and difficulties. The animal, upwards of sixty feet in length, was lying perfectly still, in a deep part of the voe into which it had weltered, and where it seemed to await the return of tide, of which it was probably assured by instinct. A council of experienced harpooners was instantly called, and it was agreed that an effort should be made to noose the tail of this torpid leviathan, by casting a cable around it, to be made fast by anchors to the shore, and thus to secure against his escape, in case the tide should make before they were able to dispatch him. Three boats were destined to this delicate piece of service, one of which the Udaller himself proposed to command, while Cleveland and Mertoun were to direct the two others. This being decided, they sat down on the strand, waiting with impatience until the naval part of the force should arrive in the voe. It was during this interval, that Triptolemus Yellowley, after measuring with his eyes the extraordinary size of the whale, observed, that in his poor mind, "A wain with six owsen, or with sixty owsen either, if they were the owsen of the country, could not drag siccan a huge creature from the water, where it was now lying, to the sea-beach." Trifling as this remark may seem to the reader, it was connected with a subject which always fired the blood of the old Udaller, who, glancing upon Triptolemus a quick and stern look, asked him what the devil it signified, supposing a hundred oxen could not drag the whale upon the beach? Mr. Yellowley, though not much liking the tone with which the question was put, felt that his dignity and his profit compelled him to answer as follows:--"Nay, sir--you know yoursell, Master Magnus Troil, and every one knows that knows any thing, that whales of siccan size as may not be masterfully dragged on shore by the instrumentality of one wain with six owsen, are the right and property of the Admiral, who is at this time the same noble lord who is, moreover, Chamberlain of these isles." "And I tell you, Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley," said the Udaller, "as I would tell your master if he were here, that every man who risks his life to bring that fish ashore, shall have an equal share and partition, according to our ancient and loveable Norse custom and wont; nay, if there is so much as a woman looking on, that will but touch the cable, she will be partner with us; ay, and more than all that, if she will but say there is a reason for it, we will assign a portion to the babe that is unborn."(_n_) The strict principle of equity, which dictated this last arrangement, occasioned laughter among the men, and some slight confusion among the women. The factor, however, thought it shame to be so easily daunted. "_Suum cuique tribuito_," said he; "I will stand for my lord's right and my own." "Will you?" replied Magnus; "then, by the Martyr's bones, you shall have no law of partition but that of God and Saint Olave, which we had before either factor, or treasurer, or chamberlain were heard of!--All shall share that lend a hand, and never a one else. So you, Master Factor, shall be busy as well as other folk, and think yourself lucky to share like other folk. Jump into that boat," (for the boats had by this time pulled round the headland,) "and you, my lads, make way for the factor in the stern-sheets--he shall be the first man this blessed day that shall strike the fish." The loud authoritative voice, and the habit of absolute command inferred in the Udaller's whole manner, together with the conscious want of favourers and backers amongst the rest of the company, rendered it difficult for Triptolemus to evade compliance, although he was thus about to be placed in a situation equally novel and perilous. He was still, however, hesitating, and attempting an explanation, with a voice in which anger was qualified by fear, and both thinly disguised under an attempt to be jocular, and to represent the whole as a jest, when he heard the voice of Baby maundering in his ear,--"Wad he lose his share of the ulzie, and the lang Zetland winter coming on, when the lightest day in December is not so clear as a moonless night in the Mearns?" This domestic instigation, in addition to those of fear of the Udaller, and shame to seem less courageous than others, so inflamed the agriculturist's spirits, that he shook his _graip_ aloft, and entered the boat with the air of Neptune himself, carrying on high his trident. The three boats destined for this perilous service, now approached the dark mass, which lay like an islet in the deepest part of the voe, and suffered them to approach without showing any sign of animation. Silently, and with such precaution as the extreme delicacy of the operation required, the intrepid adventurers, after the failure of their first attempt, and the expenditure of considerable time, succeeded in casting a cable around the body of the torpid monster, and in carrying the ends of it ashore, when an hundred hands were instantly employed in securing them. But ere this was accomplished, the tide began to make fast, and the Udaller informed his assistants, that either the fish must be killed, or at least greatly wounded, ere the depth of water on the bar was sufficient to float him; or that he was not unlikely to escape from their joint prowess. "Wherefore," said he, "we must set to work, and the factor shall have the honour to make the first throw." The valiant Triptolemus caught the word; and it is necessary to say that the patience of the whale, in suffering himself to be noosed without resistance, had abated his terrors, and very much lowered the creature in his opinion. He protested the fish had no more wit, and scarcely more activity, than a black snail; and, influenced by this undue contempt of the adversary, he waited neither for a further signal, nor a better weapon, nor a more suitable position, but, rising in his energy, hurled his graip with all his force against the unfortunate monster. The boats had not yet retreated from him to the distance necessary to ensure safety, when this injudicious commencement of the war took place. Magnus Troil, who had only jested with the factor, and had reserved the launching the first spear against the whale to some much more skilful hand, had just time to exclaim, "Mind yourselves, lads, or we are all swamped!" when the monster, roused at once from inactivity by the blow of the factor's missile, blew, with a noise resembling the explosion of a steam-engine, a huge shower of water into the air, and at the same time began to lash the waves with his tail in every direction. The boat in which Magnus presided received the shower of brine which the animal spouted aloft; and the adventurous Triptolemus, who had a full share of the immersion, was so much astonished and terrified by the consequences of his own valorous deed, that he tumbled backwards amongst the feet of the people, who, too busy to attend to him, were actively engaged in getting the boat into shoal water, out of the whale's reach. Here he lay for some minutes, trampled on by the feet of the boatmen, until they lay on their oars to bale, when the Udaller ordered them to pull to shore, and land this spare hand, who had commenced the fishing so inauspiciously. While this was doing, the other boats had also pulled off to safer distance, and now, from these as well as from the shore, the unfortunate native of the deep was overwhelmed by all kinds of missiles,--harpoons and spears flew against him on all sides--guns were fired, and each various means of annoyance plied which could excite him to exhaust his strength in useless rage. When the animal found that he was locked in by shallows on all sides, and became sensible, at the same time, of the strain of the cable on his body, the convulsive efforts which he made to escape, accompanied with sounds resembling deep and loud groans, would have moved the compassion of all but a practised whale-fisher. The repeated showers which he spouted into the air began now to be mingled with blood, and the waves which surrounded him assumed the same crimson appearance. Meantime the attempts of the assailants were redoubled; but Mordaunt Mertoun and Cleveland, in particular, exerted themselves to the uttermost, contending who should display most courage in approaching the monster, so tremendous in its agonies, and should inflict the most deep and deadly wounds upon its huge bulk. The contest seemed at last pretty well over; for although the animal continued from time to time to make frantic exertions for liberty, yet its strength appeared so much exhausted, that, even with the assistance of the tide, which had now risen considerably, it was thought it could scarcely extricate itself. Magnus gave the signal to venture nearer to the whale, calling out at the same time, "Close in, lads, he is not half so mad now--The Factor may look for a winter's oil for the two lamps at Harfra--Pull close in, lads." Ere his orders could be obeyed, the other two boats had anticipated his purpose; and Mordaunt Mertoun, eager to distinguish himself above Cleveland, had, with the whole strength he possessed, plunged a half-pike into the body of the animal. But the leviathan, like a nation whose resources appear totally exhausted by previous losses and calamities, collected his whole remaining force for an effort, which proved at once desperate and successful. The wound, last received, had probably reached through his external defences of blubber, and attained some very sensitive part of the system; for he roared aloud, as he sent to the sky a mingled sheet of brine and blood, and snapping the strong cable like a twig, overset Mertoun's boat with a blow of his tail, shot himself, by a mighty effort, over the bar, upon which the tide had now risen considerably, and made out to sea, carrying with him a whole grove of the implements which had been planted in his body, and leaving behind him, on the waters, a dark red trace of his course. "There goes to sea your cruise of oil, Master Yellowley," said Magnus, "and you must consume mutton suet, or go to bed in the dark." "_Operam et oleum perdidi_," muttered Triptolemus; "but if they catch me whale-fishing again, I will consent that the fish shall swallow me as he did Jonah." "But where is Mordaunt Mertoun all this while?" exclaimed Claud Halcro; and it was instantly perceived that the youth, who had been stunned when his boat was stove, was unable to swim to shore as the other sailors did, and now floated senseless upon the waves. We have noticed the strange and inhuman prejudice, which rendered the Zetlanders of that period unwilling to assist those whom they saw in the act of drowning, though that is the calamity to which the islanders are most frequently exposed. Three men, however, soared above this superstition. The first was Claud Halcro, who threw himself from a small rock headlong into the waves, forgetting, as he himself afterwards stated, that he could not swim, and, if possessed of the harp of Arion, had no dolphins in attendance. The first plunge which the poet made in deep water, reminding him of these deficiencies, he was fain to cling to the rock from which he had dived, and was at length glad to regain the shore, at the expense of a ducking. Magnus Troil, whose honest heart forgot his late coolness towards Mordaunt, when he saw the youth's danger, would instantly have brought him more effectual aid, but Eric Scambester held him fast. "Hout, sir--hout," exclaimed that faithful attendant--"Captain Cleveland has a grip of Mr. Mordaunt--just let the twa strangers help ilk other, and stand by the upshot. The light of the country is not to be quenched for the like of them. Bide still, sir, I say--Bredness Voe is not a bowl of punch, that a man can be fished out of like a toast with a long spoon." This sage remonstrance would have been altogether lost upon Magnus, had he not observed that Cleveland had in fact jumped out of the boat, and swum to Mertoun's assistance, and was keeping him afloat till the boat came to the aid of both. As soon as the immediate danger which called so loudly for assistance was thus ended, the honest Udaller's desire to render aid terminated also; and recollecting the cause of offence which he had, or thought he had, against Mordaunt Mertoun, he shook off his butler's hold, and turning round scornfully from the beach, called Eric an old fool for supposing that he cared whether the young fellow sank or swam. Still, however, amid his assumed indifference, Magnus could not help peeping over the heads of the circle, which, surrounding Mordaunt as soon as he was brought on shore, were charitably employed in endeavouring to recall him to life; and he was not able to attain the appearance of absolute unconcern, until the young man sat up on the beach, and showed plainly that the accident had been attended with no material consequences. It was then first that, cursing the assistants for not giving the lad a glass of brandy, he walked sullenly away, as if totally unconcerned in his fate. The women, always accurate in observing the telltale emotions of each other, failed not to remark, that when the sisters of Burgh-Westra saw Mordaunt immersed in the waves, Minna grew as pale as death, while Brenda uttered successive shrieks of terror. But though there were some nods, winks, and hints that auld acquaintance were not easily forgot, it was, on the whole, candidly admitted, that less than such marks of interest could scarce have been expected, when they saw the companion of their early youth in the act of perishing before their eyes. Whatever interest Mordaunt's condition excited while it seemed perilous, began to abate as he recovered himself; and when his senses were fully restored, only Claud Halcro, with two or three others, were standing by him. About ten paces off stood Cleveland--his hair and clothes dropping water, and his features wearing so peculiar an expression, as immediately to arrest the attention of Mordaunt. There was a suppressed smile on his cheek, and a look of pride in his eye, that implied liberation from a painful restraint, and something resembling gratified scorn. Claud Halcro hastened to intimate to Mordaunt, that he owed his life to Cleveland; and the youth, rising from the ground, and losing all other feelings in those of gratitude, stepped forward with his hand stretched out, to offer his warmest thanks to his preserver. But he stopped short in surprise, as Cleveland, retreating a pace or two, folded his arms on his breast, and declined to accept his proffered hand. He drew back in turn, and gazed with astonishment at the ungracious manner, and almost insulting look, with which Cleveland, who had formerly rather expressed a frank cordiality, or at least openness of bearing, now, after having thus rendered him a most important service, chose to receive his thanks. "It is enough," said Cleveland, observing his surprise, "and it is unnecessary to say more about it. I have paid back my debt, and we are now equal." "You are more than equal with me, Captain Cleveland," answered Mertoun, "because you endangered your life to do for me what I did for you without the slightest risk;--besides," he added, trying to give the discourse a more pleasant turn, "I have your rifle-gun to boot." "Cowards only count danger for any point of the game," said Cleveland. "Danger has been my consort for life, and sailed with me on a thousand worse voyages;--and for rifles, I have enough of my own, and you may see, when you will, which can use them best." There was something in the tone with which this was said, that struck Mordaunt strongly; it was miching malicho, as Hamlet says, and meant mischief. Cleveland saw his surprise, came close up to him, and spoke in a low tone of voice:--"Hark ye, my young brother. There is a custom among us gentlemen of fortune, that when we follow the same chase, and take the wind out of each other's sails, we think sixty yards of the sea-beach, and a brace of rifles, are no bad way of making our odds even." "I do not understand you, Captain Cleveland," said Mordaunt. "I do not suppose you do,--I did not suppose you would," said the Captain; and, turning on his heel, with a smile that resembled a sneer, Mordaunt saw him mingle with the guests, and very soon beheld him at the side of Minna, who was talking to him with animated features, that seemed to thank him for his gallant and generous conduct. "If it were not for Brenda," thought Mordaunt, "I almost wish he had left me in the voe, for no one seems to care whether I am alive or dead.--Two rifles and sixty yards of sea-beach--is that what he points at?--It may come,--but not on the day he has saved my life with risk of his own." While he was thus musing, Eric Scambester was whispering to Halcro, "If these two lads do not do each other a mischief, there is no faith in freits. Master Mordaunt saves Cleveland,--well.--Cleveland, in requital, has turned all the sunshine of Burgh-Westra to his own side of the house; and think what it is to lose favour in such a house as this, where the punch-kettle is never allowed to cool! Well, now that Cleveland in his turn has been such a fool as to fish Mordaunt out of the voe, see if he does not give him sour sillocks for stock-fish." "Pshaw, pshaw!" replied the poet, "that is all old women's fancies, my friend Eric; for what says glorious Dryden--sainted John,-- 'The yellow gall that in your bosom floats, Engenders all these melancholy thoughts.'" "Saint John, or Saint James either, may be mistaken in the matter," said Eric; "for I think neither of them lived in Zetland. I only say, that if there is faith in old saws, these two lads will do each other a mischief; and if they do, I trust it will light on Mordaunt Mertoun." "And why, Eric Scambester," said Halcro, hastily and angrily, "should you wish ill to that poor young man, that is worth fifty of the other?" "Let every one roose the ford as he finds it," replied Eric; "Master Mordaunt is all for wan water, like his old dog-fish of a father; now Captain Cleveland, d'ye see, takes his glass, like an honest fellow and a gentleman." "Rightly reasoned, and in thine own division," said Halcro; and breaking off their conversation, took his way back to Burgh-Westra, to which the guests of Magnus were now returning, discussing as they went, with much animation, the various incidents of their attack upon the whale, and not a little scandalized that it should have baffled all their exertions. "I hope Captain Donderdrecht of the Eintracht of Rotterdam will never hear of it," said Magnus; "he would swear, donner and blitzen, we were only fit to fish flounders."[46] FOOTNOTES: [46] The contest about the whale will remind the poetical reader of Waller's Battle of the Summer Islands. CHAPTER XVIII. And helter-skelter have I rode to thee, And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, And golden times, and happy news of price. _Ancient Pistol._ Fortune, who seems at times to bear a conscience, owed the hospitable Udaller some amends, and accordingly repaid to Burgh-Westra the disappointment occasioned by the unsuccessful whale-fishing, by sending thither, on the evening of the day in which that incident happened, no less a person than the jagger, or travelling merchant, as he styled himself, Bryce Snailsfoot, who arrived in great pomp, himself on one pony, and his pack of goods, swelled to nearly double its usual size, forming the burden of another, which was led by a bare-headed bare-legged boy. As Bryce announced himself the bearer of important news, he was introduced to the dining apartment, where (for that primitive age was no respecter of persons) he was permitted to sit down at a side-table, and amply supplied with provisions and good liquor; while the attentive hospitality of Magnus permitted no questions to be put to him, until, his hunger and thirst appeased, he announced, with the sense of importance attached to distant travels, that he had just yesterday arrived at Lerwick from Kirkwall, the capital of Orkney, and would have been here yesterday, but it blew hard off the Fitful-head. "We had no wind here," said Magnus. "There is somebody has not been sleeping, then," said the pedlar, "and her name begins with N; but Heaven is above all." "But the news from Orkney, Bryce, instead of croaking about a capful of wind?" "Such news," replied Bryce, "as has not been heard this thirty years--not since Cromwell's time." "There is not another Revolution, is there?" said Halcro; "King James has not come back, as blithe as King Charlie did, has he?" "It's news," replied the pedlar, "that are worth twenty kings, and kingdoms to boot of them; for what good did the evolutions ever do us? and I dare say we have seen a dozen, great and sma'." "Are any Indiamen come north about?" said Magnus Troil. "Ye are nearer the mark, Fowd," said the jagger; "but it is nae Indiaman, but a gallant armed vessel, chokeful of merchandise, that they part with so easy that a decent man like my sell can afford to give the country the best pennyworths you ever saw; and that you will say, when I open that pack, for I count to carry it back another sort lighter than when I brought it here." "Ay, ay, Bryce," said the Udaller, "you must have had good bargains if you sell cheap; but what ship was it?" "Cannot justly say--I spoke to nobody but the captain, who was a discreet man; but she had been down on the Spanish Main, for she has silks and satins, and tobacco, I warrant you, and wine, and no lack of sugar, and bonny-wallies baith of silver and gowd, and a bonnie dredging of gold dust into the bargain." "What like was she?" said Cleveland, who seemed to give much attention. "A stout ship," said the itinerant merchant, "schooner-rigged, sails like a dolphin, they say, carries twelve guns, and is pierced for twenty." "Did you hear the captain's name?" said Cleveland, speaking rather lower than his usual tone. "I just ca'd him the Captain," replied Bryce Snailsfoot; "for I make it a rule never to ask questions of them I deal with in the way of trade; for there is many an honest captain, begging your pardon, Captain Cleveland, that does not care to have his name tacked to his title; and as lang as we ken what bargains we are making, what signifies it wha we are making them wi', ye ken?" "Bryce Snailsfoot is a cautious man," said the Udaller, laughing; "he knows a fool may ask more questions than a wise man cares to answer." "I have dealt with the fair traders in my day," replied Snailsfoot, "and I ken nae use in blurting braid out with a man's name at every moment; but I will uphold this gentleman to be a gallant commander--ay, and a kind one too; for every one of his crew is as brave in apparel as himself nearly--the very foremast-men have their silken scarfs; I have seen many a lady wear a warse, and think hersell nae sma' drink--and for siller buttons, and buckles, and the lave of sic vanities, there is nae end of them." "Idiots!" muttered Cleveland between his teeth; and then added, "I suppose they are often ashore, to show all their bravery to the lasses of Kirkwall?" "Ne'er a bit of that are they. The Captain will scarce let them stir ashore without the boatswain go in the boat--as rough a tarpaulin as ever swabb'd a deck--and you may as weel catch a cat without her claws, as him without his cutlass and his double brace of pistols about him; every man stands as much in awe of him as of the commander himsell." "That must be Hawkins, or the devil," said Cleveland. "Aweel, Captain," replied the jagger, "be he the tane or the tither, or a wee bit o' baith, mind it is you that give him these names, and not I." "Why, Captain Cleveland," said the Udaller, "this may prove the very consort you spoke of." "They must have had some good luck, then," said Cleveland, "to put them in better plight than when I left them.--Did they speak of having lost their consort, pedlar?" "In troth did they," said Bryce; "that is, they said something about a partner that had gone down to Davie Jones in these seas." "And did you tell them what you knew of her?" said the Udaller. "And wha the deevil wad hae been the fule, then," said the pedlar, "that I suld say sae? When they kend what came of the ship, the next question wad have been about the cargo,--and ye wad not have had me bring down an armed vessel on the coast, to harrie the poor folk about a wheen rags of duds that the sea flung upon their shores?" "Besides, what might have been found in your own pack, you scoundrel!" said Magnus Troil; an observation which produced a loud laugh. The Udaller could not help joining in the hilarity which applauded his jest; but instantly composing his countenance, he said, in an unusually grave tone, "You may laugh, my friends; but this is a matter which brings both a curse and a shame on the country; and till we learn to regard the rights of them that suffer by the winds and waves, we shall deserve to be oppressed and hag-ridden, as we have been and are, by the superior strength of the strangers who rule us." The company hung their heads at the rebuke of Magnus Troil. Perhaps some, even of the better class, might be conscience-struck on their own account; and all of them were sensible that the appetite for plunder, on the part of the tenants and inferiors, was not at all times restrained with sufficient strictness. But Cleveland made answer gaily, "If these honest fellows be my comrades, I will answer for them that they will never trouble the country about a parcel of chests, hammocks, and such trumpery, that the Roost may have washed ashore out of my poor sloop. What signifies to them whether the trash went to Bryce Snailsfoot, or to the bottom, or to the devil? So unbuckle thy pack, Bryce, and show the ladies thy cargo, and perhaps we may see something that will please them." "It cannot be his consort," said Brenda, in a whisper to her sister; "he would have shown more joy at her appearance." "It must be the vessel," answered Minna; "I saw his eye glisten at the thought of being again united to the partner of his dangers." "Perhaps it glistened," said her sister, still apart, "at the thought of leaving Zetland; it is difficult to guess the thought of the heart from the glance of the eye." "Judge not, at least, unkindly of a friend's thought," said Minna; "and then, Brenda, if you are mistaken, the fault rests not with you." During this dialogue, Bryce Snailsfoot was busied in uncoiling the carefully arranged cordage of his pack, which amounted to six good yards of dressed seal-skin, curiously complicated and secured by all manner of knots and buckles. He was considerably interrupted in the task by the Udaller and others, who pressed him with questions respecting the stranger vessel. "Were the officers often ashore? and how were they received by the people of Kirkwall?" said Magnus Troil. "Excellently well," answered Bryce Snailsfoot; "and the Captain and one or two of his men had been at some of the vanities and dances which went forward in the town; but there had been some word about customs, or king's duties, or the like, and some of the higher folk, that took upon them as magistrates, or the like, had had words with the Captain, and he refused to satisfy them; and then it is like he was more coldly looked on, and he spoke of carrying the ship round to Stromness, or the Langhope, for she lay under the guns of the battery at Kirkwall. But he" (Bryce) "thought she wad bide at Kirkwall till the summer-fair was over, for all that." "The Orkney gentry," said Magnus Troil, "are always in a hurry to draw the Scotch collar tighter round their own necks. Is it not enough that we must pay _scat_ and _wattle,_ which were all the public dues under our old Norse government; but must they come over us with king's dues and customs besides? It is the part of an honest man to resist these things. I have done so all my life, and will do so to the end of it." There was a loud jubilee and shout of applause among the guests, who were (some of them at least) better pleased with Magnus Troil's latitudinarian principles with respect to the public revenue, (which were extremely natural to those living in so secluded a situation, and subjected to many additional exactions,) than they had been with the rigour of his judgment on the subject of wrecked goods. But Minna's inexperienced feelings carried her farther than her father, while she whispered to Brenda, not unheard by Cleveland, that the tame spirit of the Orcadians had missed every chance which late incidents had given them to emancipate these islands from the Scottish yoke. "Why," she said, "should we not, under so many changes as late times have introduced, have seized the opportunity to shake off an allegiance which is not justly due from us, and to return to the protection of Denmark, our parent country? Why should we yet hesitate to do this, but that the gentry of Orkney have mixed families and friendship so much with our invaders, that they have become dead to the throb of the heroic Norse blood, which they derived from their ancestors?" The latter part of this patriotic speech happened to reach the astonished ears of our friend Triptolemus, who, having a sincere devotion for the Protestant succession, and the Revolution as established, was surprised into the ejaculation, "As the old cock crows the young cock learns--hen I should say, mistress, and I crave your pardon if I say any thing amiss in either gender. But it is a happy country where the father declares against the king's customs, and the daughter against the king's crown! and, in my judgment, it can end in naething but trees and tows." "Trees are scarce among us," said Magnus; "and for ropes, we need them for our rigging, and cannot spare them to be shirt-collars." "And whoever," said the Captain, "takes umbrage at what this young lady says, had better keep his ears and tongue for a safer employment than such an adventure." "Ay, ay," said Triptolemus, "it helps the matter much to speak truths, whilk are as unwelcome to a proud stomach as wet clover to a cow's, in a land where lads are ready to draw the whittle if a lassie but looks awry. But what manners are to be expected in a country where folk call a pleugh-sock a markal?" "Hark ye, Master Yellowley," said the Captain, smiling, "I hope my manners are not among those abuses which you come hither to reform; any experiment on them may be dangerous." "As well as difficult," said Triptolemus, dryly; "but fear nothing, Captain Cleveland, from my remonstrances. My labours regard the men and things of the earth, and not the men and things of the sea,--you are not of my element." "Let us be friends, then, old clod-compeller," said the Captain. "Clod-compeller!" said the agriculturist, bethinking himself of the lore of his earlier days; "Clod-compeller _pro_ cloud-compeller, [Greek: Nephelêgeréta Zeus](_o_)--_Græcum est_,--in which voyage came you by that phrase?" "I have travelled books as well as seas in my day," said the Captain; "but my last voyages have been of a sort to make me forget my early cruizes through classic knowledge.--But come here, Bryce,--hast cast off the lashing?--Come all hands, and let us see if he has aught in his cargo that is worth looking upon." With a proud, and, at the same time, a wily smile, did the crafty pedlar display a collection of wares far superior to those which usually filled his packages, and, in particular, some stuffs and embroideries, of such beauty and curiosity, fringed, flowered, and worked, with such art and magnificence, upon foreign and arabesque patterns, that the sight might have dazzled a far more brilliant company than the simple race of Thule. All beheld and admired, while Mistress Baby Yellowley, holding up her hands, protested it was a sin even to look upon such extravagance, and worse than murder so much as to ask the price of them. Others, however, were more courageous; and the prices demanded by the merchant, if they were not, as he himself declared, something just more than nothing--short only of an absolute free gift of his wares, were nevertheless so moderate, as to show that he himself must have made an easy acquisition of the goods, judging by the rate at which he offered to part with them. Accordingly, the cheapness of the articles created a rapid sale; for in Zetland, as well as elsewhere, wise folk buy more from the prudential desire to secure a good bargain, than from any real occasion for the purchase. The Lady Glowrowrum bought seven petticoats and twelve stomachers on this sole principle, and other matrons present rivalled her in this sagacious species of economy. The Udaller was also a considerable purchaser; but the principal customer for whatever could please the eye of beauty, was the gallant Captain Cleveland, who rummaged the jagger's stores in selecting presents for the ladies of the party, in which Minna and Brenda Troil were especially remembered. "I fear," said Magnus Troil, "that the young women are to consider these pretty presents as keepsakes, and that all this liberality is only a sure sign we are soon to lose you?" This question seemed to embarrass him to whom it was put. "I scarce know," he said with some hesitation, "whether this vessel is my consort or no--I must take a trip to Kirkwall to make sure of that matter, and then I hope to return to Dunrossness to bid you all farewell." "In that case," said the Udaller, after a moment's pause, "I think I may carry you thither. I should be at the Kirkwall fair, to settle with the merchants I have consigned my fish to, and I have often promised Minna and Brenda that they should see the fair. Perhaps also your consort, or these strangers, whoever they be, may have some merchandise that will suit me. I love to see my rigging-loft well stocked with goods, almost as much as to see it full of dancers. We will go to Orkney in my own brig, and I can offer you a hammock, if you will." The offer seemed so acceptable to Cleveland, that, after pouring himself forth in thanks, he seemed determined to mark his joy by exhausting Bryce Snailsfoot's treasures in liberality to the company. The contents of a purse of gold were transferred to the jagger, with a facility and indifference on the part of its former owner which argued either the greatest profusion, or consciousness of superior and inexhaustible wealth; so that Baby whispered to her brother, that, "if he could afford to fling away money at this rate, the lad had made a better voyage in a broken ship, than all the skippers of Dundee had made in their haill anes for a twelvemonth past." But the angry feeling in which she made this remark was much mollified, when Cleveland, whose object it seemed that evening to be, to buy golden opinions of all sorts of men, approached her with a garment somewhat resembling in shape the Scottish plaid, but woven of a sort of wool so soft, that it felt to the touch as if it were composed of eider-down. "This," he said, "was a part of a Spanish lady's dress, called a _mantilla_; as it would exactly fit the size of Mrs. Baby Yellowley, and was very well suited for the fogs of the climate of Zetland, he entreated her to wear it for his sake." The lady, with as much condescending sweetness as her countenance was able to express, not only consented to receive this mark of gallantry, but permitted the donor to arrange the mantilla upon her projecting and bony shoulder-blades, where, said Claud Halcro, "it hung, for all the world, as if it had been stretched betwixt a couple of cloak-pins." While the Captain was performing this piece of courtesy, much to the entertainment of the company, which, it may be presumed, was his principal object from the beginning, Mordaunt Mertoun made purchase of a small golden chaplet, with the private intention of presenting it to Brenda, when he should find an opportunity. The price was fixed, and the article laid aside. Claud Halcro also showed some desire of possessing a silver box of antique shape, for depositing tobacco, which he was in the habit of using in considerable quantity. But the bard seldom had current coin in promptitude, and, indeed, in his wandering way of life, had little occasion for any; and Bryce, on the other hand, his having been hitherto a ready-money trade, protested, that his very moderate profits upon such rare and choice articles, would not allow of his affording credit to the purchaser. Mordaunt gathered the import of this conversation from the mode in which they whispered together, while the bard seemed to advance a wishful finger towards the box in question, and the cautious pedlar detained it with the weight of his whole hand, as if he had been afraid it would literally make itself wings, and fly into Claud Halcro's pocket. Mordaunt Mertoun at this moment, desirous to gratify an old acquaintance, laid the price of the box on the table, and said he would not permit Master Halcro to purchase that box, as he had settled in his own mind to make him a present of it. "I cannot think of robbing you, my dear young friend," said the poet; "but the truth is, that that same box does remind me strangely of glorious John's, out of which I had the honour to take a pinch at the Wits' Coffeehouse, for which I think more highly of my right-hand finger and thumb than any other part of my body; only you must allow me to pay you back the price when my Urkaster stock-fish come to market." "Settle that as you like betwixt you," said the jagger, taking up Mordaunt's money; "the box is bought and sold." "And how dare you sell over again," said Captain Cleveland, suddenly interfering, "what you already have sold to me?" All were surprised at this interjection, which was hastily made, as Cleveland, having turned from Mistress Baby, had become suddenly, and, as it seemed, not without emotion, aware what articles Bryce Snailsfoot was now disposing of. To this short and fierce question, the jagger, afraid to contradict a customer of his description, answered only by stammering, that the "Lord knew he meant nae offence." "How, sir! no offence!" said the seaman, "and dispose of my property?" extending his hand at the same time to the box and chaplet; "restore the young gentleman's money, and learn to keep your course on the meridian of honesty." The jagger, confused and reluctant, pulled out his leathern pouch to repay to Mordaunt the money he had just deposited in it; but the youth was not to be so satisfied. "The articles," he said, "were bought and sold--these were your own words, Bryce Snailsfoot, in Master Halcro's hearing; and I will suffer neither you nor any other to deprive me of my property." "_Your_ property, young man?" said Cleveland; "It is mine,--I spoke to Bryce respecting them an instant before I turned from the table." "I--I--I had not just heard distinctly," said Bryce, evidently unwilling to offend either party. "Come, come," said the Udaller, "we will have no quarrelling about baubles; we shall be summoned presently to the rigging-loft,"--so he used to call the apartment used as a ball-room,--"and we must all go in good-humour. The things shall remain with Bryce for to-night, and to-morrow I will myself settle whom they shall belong to." The laws of the Udaller in his own house were absolute as those of the Medes. The two young men, regarding each other with looks of sullen displeasure, drew off in different directions. It is seldom that the second day of a prolonged festival equals the first. The spirits, as well as the limbs, are jaded, and unequal to the renewed expenditure of animation and exertion; and the dance at Burgh-Westra was sustained with much less mirth than on the preceding evening. It was yet an hour from midnight, when even the reluctant Magnus Troil, after regretting the degeneracy of the times, and wishing he could transfuse into the modern Hialtlanders some of the vigour which still animated his own frame, found himself compelled to give the signal for general retreat. Just as this took place, Halcro, leading Mordaunt Mertoun a little aside, said he had a message to him from Captain Cleveland. "A message!" said Mordaunt, his heart beating somewhat thick as he spoke--"A challenge, I suppose?" "A challenge!" repeated Halcro; "who ever heard of a challenge in our quiet islands? Do you think that I look like a carrier of challenges, and to you of all men living?--I am none of those fighting fools, as glorious John calls them; and it was not quite a message I had to deliver--only thus far--this Captain Cleveland, I find, hath set his heart upon having these articles you looked at." "He shall not have them, I swear to you," replied Mordaunt Mertoun. "Nay, but hear me," said Halcro; "it seems that, by the marks or arms that are upon them, he knows that they were formerly his property. Now, were you to give me the box, as you promised, I fairly tell you, I should give the man back his own." "And Brenda might do the like," thought Mordaunt to himself, and instantly replied aloud, "I have thought better of it, my friend. Captain Cleveland shall have the toys he sets such store by, but it is on one sole condition." "Nay, you will spoil all with your conditions," said Halcro; "for, as glorious John says, conditions are but"---- "Hear me, I say, with patience.--My condition is, that he keeps the toys in exchange for the rifle-gun I accepted from him, which will leave no obligation between us on either side." "I see where you would be--this is Sebastian and Dorax all over. Well, you may let the jagger know he is to deliver the things to Cleveland--I think he is mad to have them--and I will let Cleveland know the conditions annexed, otherwise honest Bryce might come by two payments instead of one; and I believe his conscience would not choke upon it." With these words, Halcro went to seek out Cleveland, while Mordaunt, observing Snailsfoot, who, as a sort of privileged person, had thrust himself into the crowd at the bottom of the dancing-room, went up to him, and gave him directions to deliver the disputed articles to Cleveland as soon as he had an opportunity. "Ye are in the right, Maister Mordaunt," said the jagger; "ye are a prudent and a sensible lad--a calm answer turneth away wrath--and mysell, I sall be willing to please you in ony trifling matters in my sma' way; for, between the Udaller of Burgh-Westra and Captain Cleveland, a man is, as it were, atween the deil and the deep sea; and it was like that the Udaller, in the end, would have taken your part in the dispute, for he is a man that loves justice." "Which apparently you care very little about, Master Snailsfoot," said Mordaunt, "otherwise there could have been no dispute whatever, the right being so clearly on my side, if you had pleased to bear witness according to the dictates of truth." "Maister Mordaunt," said the jagger, "I must own there was, as it were, a colouring or shadow of justice on your side; but then, the justice that I meddle with, is only justice in the way of trade, to have an ellwand of due length, if it be not something worn out with leaning on it in my lang and painful journeys, and to buy and sell by just weight and measure, twenty-four merks to the lispund; but I have nothing to do, to do justice betwixt man and man, like a Fowd or a Lawright-man at a lawting lang syne." "No one asked you to do so, but only to give evidence according to your conscience," replied Mordaunt, not greatly pleased either with the part the jagger had acted during the dispute, or the construction which he seemed to put on his own motives for yielding up the point. But Bryce Snailsfoot wanted not his answer; "My conscience," he said, "Maister Mordaunt, is as tender as ony man's in my degree; but she is something of a timorsome nature, cannot abide angry folk, and can never speak above her breath, when there is aught of a fray going forward. Indeed, she hath at all times a small and low voice." "Which you are not much in the habit of listening to," said Mordaunt. "There is that on your ain breast that proves the contrary," said Bryce, resolutely. "In my breast?" said Mordaunt, somewhat angrily,--"what know I of you?" "I said _on_ your breast, Maister Mordaunt, and not _in_ it. I am sure nae eye that looks on that waistcoat upon your own gallant brisket, but will say, that the merchant who sold such a piece for four dollars had justice and conscience, and a kind heart to a customer to the boot of a' that; sae ye shouldna be sae thrawart wi' me for having spared the breath of my mouth in a fool's quarrel." "I thrawart!" said Mordaunt; "pooh, you silly man! I have no quarrel with you." "I am glad of it," said the travelling merchant; "I will quarrel with no man, with my will--least of all with an old customer; and if you will walk by my advice, you will quarrel nane with Captain Cleveland. He is like one of yon cutters and slashers that have come into Kirkwall, that think as little of slicing a man, as we do of flinching a whale--it's their trade to fight, and they live by it; and they have the advantage of the like of you, that only take it up at your own hand, and in the way of pastime, when you hae nothing better to do." The company had now almost all dispersed; and Mordaunt, laughing at the jagger's caution, bade him good-night, and went to his own place of repose, which had been assigned to him by Eric Scambester, (who acted the part of chamberlain as well as butler,) in a small room, or rather closet, in one of the outhouses, furnished for the occasion with the hammock of a sailor. CHAPTER XIX. I pass like night from land to land, I have strange power of speech; So soon as e'er his face I see, I know the man that must hear me, To him my tale I teach. COLERIDGE'S _Rime of the Ancient Mariner_. The daughters of Magnus Troil shared the same bed, in a chamber which had been that of their parents before the death of their mother. Magnus, who suffered grievously under that dispensation of Providence, had become disgusted with the apartment. The nuptial chamber was abandoned to the pledges of his bereaved affection, of whom the eldest was at that period only four years old, or thereabouts; and, having been their nursery in infancy, continued, though now tricked and adorned according to the best fashion of the islands, and the taste of the lovely sisters themselves, to be their sleeping-room, or, in the old Norse dialect, their bower. It had been for many years the scene of the most intimate confidence, if that could be called confidence, where, in truth, there was nothing to be confided; where neither sister had a secret; and where every thought that had birth in the bosom of the one, was, without either hesitation or doubt, confided to the other as spontaneously as it had arisen. But, since Cleveland abode in the mansion of Burgh-Westra, each of the lovely sisters had entertained thoughts which are not lightly or easily communicated, unless she who listens to them has previously assured herself that the confidence will be kindly received. Minna had noticed what other and less interested observers had been unable to perceive, that Cleveland, namely, held a lower rank in Brenda's opinion than in her own; and Brenda, on her side, thought that Minna had hastily and unjustly joined in the prejudices which had been excited against Mordaunt Mertoun in the mind of their father. Each was sensible that she was no longer the same to her sister; and this conviction was a painful addition to other painful apprehensions which they supposed they had to struggle with. Their manner towards each other was, in outward appearances, and in all the little cares by which affection can be expressed, even more assiduously kind than before, as if both, conscious that their internal reserve was a breach of their sisterly union, strove to atone for it by double assiduity in those external marks of affection, which, at other times, when there was nothing to hide, might be omitted without inferring any consequences. On the night referred to in particular, the sisters felt more especially the decay of the confidence which used to exist betwixt them. The proposed voyage to Kirkwall, and that at the time of the fair, when persons of every degree in these islands repair thither, either for business or amusement, was likely to be an important incident in lives usually so simple and uniform as theirs; and, a few months ago, Minna and Brenda would have been awake half the night, anticipating, in their talk with each other, all that was likely to happen on so momentous an occasion. But now the subject was just mentioned, and suffered to drop, as if the topic was likely to produce a difference betwixt them, or to call forth a more open display of their several opinions than either was willing to make to the other. Yet such was their natural openness and gentleness of disposition, that each sister imputed to herself the fault that there was aught like estrangement existing between them; and when, having finished their devotions, and betaken themselves to their common couch, they folded each other in their arms, and exchanged a sisterly kiss, and a sisterly good-night, they seemed mutually to ask pardon, and to exchange forgiveness, although neither said a word of offence, either offered or received; and both were soon plunged in that light and yet profound repose, which is only enjoyed when sleep sinks down on the eyes of youth and innocence. On the night to which the story relates, both sisters were visited by dreams, which, though varied by the moods and habits of the sleepers, bore yet a strange general resemblance to each other. Minna dreamed that she was in one of the most lonely recesses of the beach, called Swartaster, where the incessant operation of the waves, indenting a calcarious rock, has formed a deep _halier_, which, in the language of the island, means a subterranean cavern, into which the tide ebbs and flows. Many of these run to an extraordinary and unascertained depth under ground, and are the secure retreat of cormorants and seals, which it is neither easy nor safe to pursue to their extreme recesses. Amongst these, this halier of Swartaster was accounted peculiarly inaccessible, and shunned both by fowlers and by seamen, on account of sharp angles and turnings in the cave itself, as well as the sunken rocks which rendered it very dangerous for skiffs or boats to advance far into it, especially if there was the usual swell of an island tide. From the dark-browed mouth of this cavern, it seemed to Minna, in her dream, that she beheld a mermaid issue, not in the classical dress of a Nereid, as in Claud Halcro's mask of the preceding evening, but with comb and glass in hand, according to popular belief, and lashing the waves with that long scaly train, which, in the traditions of the country, forms so frightful a contrast with the fair face, long tresses, and displayed bosom, of a human and earthly female, of surpassing beauty. She seemed to beckon to Minna, while her wild notes rang sadly in her ear, and denounced, in prophetic sounds, calamity and woe. The vision of Brenda was of a different description, yet equally melancholy. She sat, as she thought, in her favourite bower, surrounded by her father and a party of his most beloved friends, amongst whom Mordaunt Mertoun was not forgotten. She was required to sing; and she strove to entertain them with a lively ditty, in which she was accounted eminently successful, and which she sung with such simple, yet natural humour, as seldom failed to produce shouts of laughter and applause, while all who could, or who could not sing, were irresistibly compelled to lend their voices to the chorus. But, on this occasion, it seemed as if her own voice refused all its usual duty, and as if, while she felt herself unable to express the words of the well-known air, it assumed, in her own despite, the deep tones and wild and melancholy notes of Norna of Fitful-head, for the purpose of chanting some wild Runic rhyme, resembling those sung by the heathen priests of old, when the victim (too often human) was bound to the fatal altar of Odin or of Thor. At length the two sisters at once started from sleep, and, uttering a low scream of fear, clasped themselves in each other's arms. For their fancy had not altogether played them false; the sounds, which had suggested their dreams, were real, and sung within their apartment. They knew the voice well, indeed, and yet, knowing to whom it belonged, their surprise and fear were scarce the less, when they saw the well-known Norna of Fitful-head, seated by the chimney of the apartment, which, during the summer season, contained an iron lamp well trimmed, and, in winter, a fire of wood or of turf. She was wrapped in her long and ample garment of wadmaal, and moved her body slowly to and fro over the pale flame of the lamp, as she sung lines to the following purport, in a slow, sad, and almost an unearthly accent: "For leagues along the watery way, Through gulf and stream my course has been; The billows know my Runic lay, And smooth their crests to silent green. "The billows know my Runic lay,-- The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still; But human hearts, more wild than they, Know but the rule of wayward will. "One hour is mine, in all the year, To tell my woes,--and one alone; When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here,-- When dies the mystic light, 'tis gone. "Daughters of northern Magnus, hail! The lamp is lit, the flame is clear,-- To you I come to tell my tale, Awake, arise, my tale to hear!" Norna was well known to the daughters of Troil, but it was not without emotion, although varied by their respective dispositions, that they beheld her so unexpectedly, and at such an hour. Their opinions with respect to the supernatural attributes to which she pretended, were extremely different. Minna, with an unusual intensity of imagination, although superior in talent to her sister, was more apt to listen to, and delight in, every tale of wonder, and was at all times more willing to admit impressions which gave her fancy scope and exercise, without minutely examining their reality. Brenda, on the other hand, had, in her gaiety, a slight propensity to satire, and was often tempted to laugh at the very circumstances upon which Minna founded her imaginative dreams; and, like all who love the ludicrous, she did not readily suffer herself to be imposed upon, or overawed, by pompous pretensions of any kind whatever. But, as her nerves were weaker and more irritable than those of her sister, she often paid involuntary homage, by her fears, to ideas which her reason disowned; and hence, Claud Halcro used to say, in reference to many of the traditionary superstitions around Burgh-Westra, that Minna believed them without trembling, and that Brenda trembled without believing them. In our own more enlightened days, there are few whose undoubting mind and native courage have not felt Minna's high wrought tone of enthusiasm; and perhaps still fewer, who have not, at one time or other, felt, like Brenda, their nerves confess the influence of terrors which their reason disowned and despised. Under the power of such different feelings, Minna, when the first moment of surprise was over, prepared to spring from her bed, and go to greet Norna, who, she doubted not, had come on some errand fraught with fate; while Brenda, who only beheld in her a woman partially deranged in her understanding, and who yet, from the extravagance of her claims, regarded her as an undefined object of awe, or rather terror, detained her sister by an eager and terrified grasp, while she whispered in her ear an anxious entreaty that she would call for assistance. But the soul of Minna was too highly wrought up by the crisis at which her fate seemed to have arrived, to permit her to follow the dictates of her sister's fears; and, extricating herself from Brenda's hold, she hastily threw on a loose nightgown, and, stepping boldly across the apartment, while her heart throbbed rather with high excitement than with fear, she thus addressed her singular visitor: "Norna, if your mission regards us, as your words seem to express, there is one of us, at least, who will receive its import with reverence, but without fear." "Norna, dear Norna," said the tremulous voice of Brenda,--who, feeling no safety in the bed after Minna quitted it, had followed her, as fugitives crowd into the rear of an advancing army, because they dare not remain behind, and who now stood half concealed by her sister, and holding fast by the skirts of her gown,--"Norna, dear Norna," said she, "whatever you are to say, let it be to-morrow. I will call Euphane Fea, the housekeeper, and she will find you a bed for the night." "No bed for me!" said their nocturnal visitor; "no closing of the eyes for me! They have watched as shelf and stack appeared and disappeared betwixt Burgh-Westra and Orkney--they have seen the Man of Hoy sink into the sea, and the Peak of Hengcliff arise from it, and yet they have not tasted of slumber; nor must they slumber now till my task is ended. Sit down, then, Minna, and thou, silly trembler, sit down, while I trim my lamp--Don your clothes, for the tale is long, and ere 'tis done, ye will shiver with worse than cold." "For Heaven's sake, then, put it off till daylight, dear Norna!" said Brenda; "the dawn cannot be far distant; and if you are to tell us of any thing frightful, let it be by daylight, and not by the dim glimmer of that blue lamp!" "Patience, fool!" said their uninvited guest. "Not by daylight should Norna tell a tale that might blot the sun out of heaven, and blight the hopes of the hundred boats that will leave this shore ere noon, to commence their deep-sea fishing,--ay, and of the hundred families that will await their return. The demon, whom the sounds will not fail to awaken, must shake his dark wings over a shipless and a boatless sea, as he rushes from his mountain to drink the accents of horror he loves so well to listen to." "Have pity on Brenda's fears, good Norna," said the elder sister, "and at least postpone this frightful communication to another place and hour." "Maiden, no!" replied Norna, sternly; "it must be told while that lamp yet burns. Mine is no daylight tale--by that lamp it must be told, which is framed out of the gibbet-irons of the cruel Lord of Wodensvoe, who murdered his brother; and has for its nourishment--but be that nameless--enough that its food never came either from the fish or from the fruit!--See, it waxes dim and dimmer, nor must my tale last longer than its flame endureth. Sit ye down there, while I sit here opposite to you, and place the lamp betwixt us; for within the sphere of its light the demon dares not venture." The sisters obeyed, Minna casting a slow awestruck, yet determined look all around, as if to see the Being, who, according to the doubtful words of Norna, hovered in their neighbourhood; while Brenda's fears were mingled with some share both of anger and of impatience. Norna paid no attention to either, but began her story in the following words:-- "Ye know, my daughters, that your blood is allied to mine, but in what degree ye know not; for there was early hostility betwixt your grandsire and him who had the misfortune to call me daughter.--Let me term him by his Christian name of Erland, for that which marks our relation I dare not bestow. Your grandsire Olave, was the brother of Erland. But when the wide Udal possessions of their father Rolfe Troil, the most rich and well estated of any who descended from the old Norse stock, were divided betwixt the brothers, the Fowd gave to Erland his father's lands in Orkney, and reserved for Olave those of Hialtland. Discord arose between the brethren; for Erland held that he was wronged; and when the Lawting,[47] with the Raddmen and Lawright-men, confirmed the division, he went in wrath to Orkney, cursing Hialtland and its inhabitants--cursing his brother and his blood. "But the love of the rock and of the mountain still wrought on Erland's mind, and he fixed his dwelling not on the soft hills of Ophir, or the green plains of Gramesey, but in the wild and mountainous Isle of Hoy, whose summit rises to the sky like the cliffs of Foulah and of Feroe.[48] He knew,--that unhappy Erland,--whatever of legendary lore Scald and Bard had left behind them; and to teach me that knowledge, which was to cost us both so dear, was the chief occupation of his old age. I learned to visit each lonely barrow--each lofty cairn--to tell its appropriate tale, and to soothe with rhymes in his praise the spirit of the stern warrior who dwelt within. I knew where the sacrifices were made of yore to Thor and to Odin, on what stones the blood of the victims flowed--where stood the dark-browed priest--where the crested chiefs, who consulted the will of the idol--where the more distant crowd of inferior worshippers, who looked on in awe or in terror. The places most shunned by the timid peasants had no terrors for me; I dared walk in the fairy circle, and sleep by the magic spring. "But, for my misfortune, I was chiefly fond to linger about the Dwarfie Stone, as it is called, a relic of antiquity, which strangers look on with curiosity, and the natives with awe. It is a huge fragment of rock, which lies in a broken and rude valley, full of stones and precipices, in the recesses of the Ward-hill of Hoy. The inside of the rock has two couches, hewn by no earthly hand, and having a small passage between them. The doorway is now open to the weather; but beside it lies a large stone, which, adapted to grooves still visible in the entrance, once had served to open and to close this extraordinary dwelling, which Trolld, a dwarf famous in the northern Sagas, is said to have framed for his own favourite residence. The lonely shepherd avoids the place; for at sunrise, high noon, or sunset, the misshapen form of the necromantic owner may sometimes still be seen sitting by the Dwarfie Stone.[49] I feared not the apparition, for, Minna, my heart was as bold, and my hand was as innocent, as yours. In my childish courage, I was even but too presumptuous, and the thirst after things unattainable led me, like our primitive mother, to desire increase of knowledge, even by prohibited means. I longed to possess the power of the Voluspæ and divining women of our ancient race; to wield, like them, command over the elements; and to summon the ghosts of deceased heroes from their caverns, that they might recite their daring deeds, and impart to me their hidden treasures. Often when watching by the Dwarfie Stone, with mine eyes fixed on the Ward-hill, which rises above that gloomy valley, I have distinguished, among the dark rocks, that wonderful carbuncle,[50](_p_) which gleams ruddy as a furnace to them who view it from beneath, but has ever become invisible to him whose daring foot has scaled the precipices from which it darts its splendour. My vain and youthful bosom burned to investigate these and an hundred other mysteries, which the Sagas that I perused, or learned from Erland, rather indicated than explained; and in my daring mood, I called on the Lord of the Dwarfie Stone to aid me in attaining knowledge inaccessible to mere mortals." "And the evil spirit heard your summons?" said Minna, her blood curdling as she listened. "Hush," said Norna, lowering her voice, "vex him not with reproach--he is with us--he hears us even now." Brenda started from her seat.--"I will to Euphane Fea's chamber," she said, "and leave you, Minna and Norna, to finish your stories of hobgoblins and of dwarfs at your own leisure; I care not for them at any time, but I will not endure them at midnight, and by this pale lamplight." She was accordingly in the act of leaving the room, when her sister detained her. "Is this the courage," she said, "of her, that disbelieves whatever the history of our fathers tells us of supernatural prodigy? What Norna has to tell concerns the fate, perhaps, of our father and his house;--if I can listen to it, trusting that God and my innocence will protect me from all that is malignant, you, Brenda, who believe not in such influence, have surely no cause to tremble. Credit me, that for the guiltless there is no fear." "There may be no danger," said Brenda, unable to suppress her natural turn for humour, "but, as the old jest book says, there is much fear. However, Minna, I will stay with you;--the rather," she added, in a whisper, "that I am loath to leave you alone with this frightful woman, and that I have a dark staircase and long passage betwixt and Euphane Fea, else I would have her here ere I were five minutes older." "Call no one hither, maiden, upon peril of thy life," said Norna, "and interrupt not my tale again; for it cannot and must not be told after that charmed light has ceased to burn." "And I thank heaven," said Brenda to herself, "that the oil burns low in the cruize! I am sorely tempted to lend it a puff, but then Norna would be alone with us in the dark, and that would be worse." So saying, she submitted to her fate, and sat down, determined to listen with all the equanimity which she could command to the remaining part of Norna's tale, which went on as follows:-- "It happened on a hot summer day, and just about the hour of noon," continued Norna, "as I sat by the Dwarfie Stone, with my eyes fixed on the Ward-hill, whence the mysterious and ever-burning carbuncle shed its rays more brightly than usual, and repined in my heart at the restricted bounds of human knowledge, that at length I could not help exclaiming, in the words of an ancient Saga, 'Dwellers of the mountain, rise, Trolld the powerful, Haims the wise! Ye who taught weak woman's tongue Words that sway the wise and strong,-- Ye who taught weak woman's hand How to wield the magic wand, And wake the gales on Foulah's steep, Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to sleep!-- Still are ye yet?--Not yours the power Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. What are ye now but empty names, Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims, That, lightly spoken, lightly heard, Float on the air like thistle's beard?' "I had scarce uttered these words," proceeded Norna, "ere the sky, which had been till then unusually clear, grew so suddenly dark around me, that it seemed more like midnight than noon. A single flash of lightning showed me at once the desolate landscape of heath, morass, mountain, and precipice, which lay around; a single clap of thunder wakened all the echoes of the Ward-hill, which continued so long to repeat the sound, that it seemed some rock, rent by the thunderbolt from the summit, was rolling over cliff and precipice into the valley. Immediately after, fell a burst of rain so violent, that I was fain to shun its pelting, by creeping into the interior of the mysterious stone. "I seated myself on the larger stone couch, which is cut at the farther end of the cavity, and, with my eyes fixed on the smaller bed, wearied myself with conjectures respecting the origin and purpose of my singular place of refuge. Had it been really the work of that powerful Trolld, to whom the poetry of the Scalds referred it? Or was it the tomb of some Scandinavian chief, interred with his arms and his wealth, perhaps also with his immolated wife, that what he loved best in life might not in death be divided from him? Or was it the abode of penance, chosen by some devoted anchorite of later days? Or the idle work of some wandering mechanic, whom chance, and whim, and leisure, had thrust upon such an undertaking? I tell you the thoughts that then floated through my brain, that ye may know that what ensued was not the vision of a prejudiced or prepossessed imagination, but an apparition, as certain as it was awful. "Sleep had gradually crept on me, amidst my lucubrations, when I was startled from my slumbers by a second clap of thunder; and, when I awoke, I saw, through the dim light which the upper aperture admitted, the unshapely and indistinct form of Trolld the dwarf, seated opposite to me on the lesser couch, which his square and misshapen bulk seemed absolutely to fill up. I was startled, but not affrighted; for the blood of the ancient race of Lochlin was warm in my veins. He spoke; and his words were of Norse, so old, that few, save my father, or I myself, could have comprehended their import,--such language as was spoken in these islands ere Olave planted the cross on the ruins of heathenism. His meaning was dark also and obscure, like that which the Pagan priests were wont to deliver, in the name of their idols, to the tribes that assembled at the _Helgafels_.[51] This was the import,-- 'A thousand winters dark have flown, Since o'er the threshold of my Stone A votaress pass'd, my power to own. Visitor bold Of the mansion of Trolld, Maiden haughty of heart, Who hast hither presumed,-- Ungifted, undoom'd, Thou shalt not depart; The power thou dost covet O'er tempest and wave, Shall be thine, thou proud maiden, By beach and by cave,-- By stack[52] and by skerry,[53] by noup[54] and by voe,[55] By air[56] and by wick,[57] and by helyer[58] and gio,[59] And by every wild shore which the northern winds know, And the northern tides lave. But though this shall be given thee, thou desperately brave, I doom thee that never the gift thou shalt have, Till thou reave thy life's giver Of the gift which he gave.' "I answered him in nearly the same strain; for the spirit of the ancient Scalds of our race was upon me, and, far from fearing the phantom, with whom I sat cooped within so narrow a space, I felt the impulse of that high courage which thrust the ancient Champions and Druidesses upon contests with the invisible world, when they thought that the earth no longer contained enemies worthy to be subdued by them. Therefore did I answer him thus:-- 'Dark are thy words, and severe, Thou dweller in the stone; But trembling and fear To her are unknown, Who hath sought thee here, In thy dwelling lone. Come what comes soever, The worst I can endure; Life is but a short fever, And Death is the cure.' "The Demon scowled at me, as if at once incensed and overawed; and then coiling himself up in a thick and sulphureous vapour, he disappeared from his place. I did not, till that moment, feel the influence of fright, but then it seized me. I rushed into the open air, where the tempest had passed away, and all was pure and serene. After a moment's breathless pause, I hasted home, musing by the way on the words of the phantom, which I could not, as often happens, recall so distinctly to memory at the time, as I have been able to do since. "It may seem strange that such an apparition should, in time, have glided from my mind, like a vision of the night--but so it was. I brought myself to believe it the work of fancy--I thought I had lived too much in solitude, and had given way too much to the feelings inspired by my favourite studies. I abandoned them for a time, and I mixed with the youth of my age. I was upon a visit at Kirkwall when I learned to know your father, whom business had brought thither. He easily found access to the relation with whom I lived, who was anxious to compose, if possible, the feud which divided our families. Your father, maidens, has been rather hardened than changed by years--he had the same manly form, the same old Norse frankness of manner and of heart, the same upright courage and honesty of disposition, with more of the gentle ingenuousness of youth, an eager desire to please, a willingness to be pleased, and a vivacity of spirits which survives not our early years. But though he was thus worthy of love, and though Erland wrote to me, authorizing his attachment, there was another--a stranger, Minna, a fatal stranger--full of arts unknown to us, and graces which to the plain manners of your father were unknown. Yes, he walked, indeed, among us like a being of another and of a superior race.--Ye look on me as if it were strange that I should have had attractions for such a lover; but I present nothing that can remind you that Norna of the Fitful-head was once admired and loved as Ulla Troil--the change betwixt the animated body and the corpse after disease, is scarce more awful and absolute than I have sustained, while I yet linger on earth. Look on me, maidens--look on me by this glimmering light--Can ye believe that these haggard and weather-wasted features--these eyes, which have been almost converted to stone, by looking upon sights of terror--these locks, that, mingled with grey, now stream out, the shattered pennons of a sinking vessel--that these, and she to whom they belong, could once be the objects of fond affection?--But the waning lamp sinks fast, and let it sink while I tell my infamy.--We loved in secret, we met in secret, till I gave the last proof of fatal and of guilty passion!--And now beam out, thou magic glimmer--shine out a little space, thou flame so powerful even in thy feebleness--bid him who hovers near us, keep his dark pinions aloof from the circle thou dost illuminate--live but a little till the worst be told, and then sink when thou wilt into darkness, as black as my guilt and sorrow!" While she spoke thus, she drew together the remaining nutriment of the lamp, and trimmed its decaying flame; then again, with a hollow voice, and in broken sentences, pursued her narrative. "I must waste little time in words. My love was discovered, but not my guilt. Erland came to Pomona in anger, and transported me to our solitary dwelling in Hoy. He commanded me to see my lover no more, and to receive Magnus, in whom he was willing to forgive the offences of his father, as my future husband. Alas, I no longer deserved his attachment--my only wish was to escape from my father's dwelling, to conceal my shame in my lover's arms. Let me do him justice--he was faithful--too, too faithful--his perfidy would have bereft me of my senses; but the fatal consequences of his fidelity have done me a tenfold injury." She paused, and then resumed, with the wild tone of insanity, "It has made me the powerful and the despairing Sovereign of the Seas and Winds!" She paused a second time after this wild exclamation, and resumed her narrative in a more composed manner. "My lover came in secret to Hoy, to concert measures for my flight, and I agreed to meet him, that we might fix the time when his vessel should come into the Sound. I left the house at midnight." Here she appeared to gasp with agony, and went on with her tale by broken and interrupted sentences. "I left the house at midnight--I had to pass my father's door, and I perceived it was open--I thought he watched us; and, that the sound of my steps might not break his slumbers, I closed the fatal door--a light and trivial action--but, God in Heaven! what were the consequences!--At morn, the room was full of suffocating vapour--my father was dead--dead through my act--dead through my disobedience--dead through my infamy! All that follows is mist and darkness--a choking, suffocating, stifling mist envelopes all that I said and did, all that was said and done, until I became assured that my doom was accomplished, and walked forth the calm and terrible being you now behold me--the Queen of the Elements--the sharer in the power of those beings to whom man and his passions give such sport as the tortures of the dog-fish afford the fisherman, when he pierces his eyes with thorns, and turns him once more into his native element, to traverse the waves in blindness and agony.[60] No, maidens, she whom you see before you is impassive to the follies of which your minds are the sport. I am she that have made the offering--I am she that bereaved the giver of the gift of life which he gave me--the dark saying has been interpreted by my deed, and I am taken from humanity, to be something pre-eminently powerful, pre-eminently wretched!" As she spoke thus, the light, which had been long quivering, leaped high for an instant, and seemed about to expire, when Norna, interrupting herself, said hastily, "No more now--he comes--he comes--Enough that ye know me, and the right I have to advise and command you.--Approach now, proud Spirit! if thou wilt." So saying, she extinguished the lamp, and passed out of the apartment with her usual loftiness of step, as Minna could observe from its measured cadence. FOOTNOTES: [47] The Lawting was the Comitia, or Supreme Court, of the country, being retained both in Orkney and Zetland, and presenting, in its constitution, the rude origin of a parliament. [48] And from which hill of Hoy, at midsummer, the sun may be seen, it is said, at midnight. So says the geographer Bleau, although, according to Dr. Wallace, it cannot be the true body of the sun which is visible, but only its image refracted through some watery cloud upon the horizon. [49] Note VIII.--The Dwarfie Stone. [50] Note IX.--Carbuncle on the Ward-hill. [51] Or consecrated mountain, used by the Scandinavian priests for the purposes of their idol-worship. [52] _Stack._ A precipitous rock, rising out of the sea. [53] _Skerry._ A flat insulated rock, not subject to the overflowing of the sea. [54] _Noup._ A round-headed eminence. [55] _Voe._ A creek, or inlet of the sea. [56] _Air._ An open sea-beach. [57] _Wick._ An open bay. [58] _Helyer._ A cavern into which the tide flows. [59] _Gio._ A deep ravine which admits the sea. [60] This cruelty is practised by some fishers, out of a vindictive hatred to these ravenous fishes. CHAPTER XX. Is all the counsel that we two have shared-- The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us--O, and is all forgot? _Midsummer-Night's Dream._ The attention of Minna was powerfully arrested by this tale of terror, which accorded with and explained many broken hints respecting Norna, which she had heard from her father and other near relations, and she was for a time so lost in surprise, not unmingled with horror, that she did not even attempt to speak to her sister Brenda. When, at length, she called her by her name, she received no answer, and, on touching her hand, she found it cold as ice. Alarmed to the uttermost, she threw open the lattice and the window-shutters, and admitted at once the free air and the pale glimmer of the hyperborean summer night. She then became sensible that her sister was in a swoon. All thoughts concerning Norna, her frightful tale, and her mysterious connexion with the invisible world, at once vanished from Minna's thoughts, and she hastily ran to the apartment of the old housekeeper, to summon her aid, without reflecting for a moment what sights she might encounter in the long dark passages which she had to traverse. The old woman hastened to Brenda's assistance, and instantly applied such remedies as her experience suggested; but the poor girl's nervous system had been so much agitated by the horrible tale she had just heard, that, when recovered from her swoon, her utmost endeavours to compose her mind could not prevent her falling into a hysterical fit of some duration. This also was subdued by the experience of old Euphane Fea, who was well versed in all the simple pharmacy used by the natives of Zetland, and who, after administering a composing draught, distilled from simples and wild flowers, at length saw her patient resigned to sleep. Minna stretched herself beside her sister, kissed her cheek, and courted slumber in her turn; but the more she invoked it, the farther it seemed to fly from her eyelids; and if at times she was disposed to sink into repose, the voice of the involuntary parricide seemed again to sound in her ears, and startled her into consciousness. The early morning hour at which they were accustomed to rise, found the state of the sisters different from what might have been expected. A sound sleep had restored the spirit of Brenda's lightsome eye, and the rose on her laughing cheek; the transient indisposition of the preceding night having left as little trouble on her look, as the fantastic terrors of Norna's tale had been able to impress on her imagination. The looks of Minna, on the contrary, were melancholy, downcast, and apparently exhausted by watching and anxiety. They said at first little to each other, as if afraid of touching a subject so fraught with emotion as the scene of the preceding night. It was not until they had performed together their devotions, as usual, that Brenda, while lacing Minna's boddice, (for they rendered the services of the toilet to each other reciprocally,) became aware of the paleness of her sister's looks; and having ascertained, by a glance at the mirror, that her own did not wear the same dejection, she kissed Minna's cheek, and said affectionately, "Claud Halcro was right, my dearest sister, when his poetical folly gave us these names of Night and Day." "And wherefore should you say so now?" said Minna. "Because we each are bravest in the season that we take our name from: I was frightened wellnigh to death, by hearing those things last night, which you endured with courageous firmness; and now, when it is broad light, I can think of them with composure, while you look as pale as a spirit who is surprised by sunrise." "You are lucky, Brenda," said her sister, gravely, "who can so soon forget such a tale of wonder and horror." "The horror," said Brenda, "is never to be forgotten, unless one could hope that the unfortunate woman's excited imagination, which shows itself so active in conjuring up apparitions, may have fixed on her an imaginary crime." "You believe nothing, then," said Minna, "of her interview at the Dwarfie Stone, that wondrous place, of which so many tales are told, and which, for so many centuries, has been reverenced as the work of a demon, and as his abode?" "I believe," said Brenda, "that our unhappy relative is no impostor,--and therefore I believe that she was at the Dwarfie Stone during a thunderstorm, that she sought shelter in it, and that, during a swoon, or during sleep perhaps, some dream visited her, concerned with the popular traditions with which she was so conversant; but I cannot easily believe more." "And yet the event," said Minna, "corresponded to the dark intimations of the vision." "Pardon me," said Brenda, "I rather think the dream would never have been put into shape, or perhaps remembered at all, but for the event. She told us herself she had nearly forgot the vision, till after her father's dreadful death,--and who shall warrant how much of what she then supposed herself to remember was not the creation of her own fancy, disordered as it naturally was by the horrid accident? Had she really seen and conversed with a necromantic dwarf, she was likely to remember the conversation long enough--at least I am sure I should." "Brenda," replied Minna, "you have heard the good minister of the Cross-Kirk say, that human wisdom was worse than folly, when it was applied to mysteries beyond its comprehension; and that, if we believed no more than we could understand, we should resist the evidence of our senses, which presented us, at every turn, circumstances as certain as they were unintelligible." "You are too learned yourself, sister," answered Brenda, "to need the assistance of the good minister of Cross-Kirk; but I think his doctrine only related to the mysteries of our religion, which it is our duty to receive without investigation or doubt--but in things occurring in common life, as God has bestowed reason upon us, we cannot act wrong in employing it. But you, my dear Minna, have a warmer fancy than mine, and are willing to receive all those wonderful stories for truth, because you love to think of sorcerers, and dwarfs, and water-spirits, and would like much to have a little trow, or fairy, as the Scotch call them, with a green coat, and a pair of wings as brilliant as the hues of the starling's neck, specially to attend on you." "It would spare you at least the trouble of lacing my boddice," said Minna, "and of lacing it wrong, too; for in the heat of your argument you have missed two eyelet-holes." "That error shall be presently mended," said Brenda; "and then, as one of our friends might say, I will haul tight and belay--but you draw your breath so deeply, that it will be a difficult matter." "I only sighed," said Minna, in some confusion, "to think how soon you can trifle with and ridicule the misfortunes of this extraordinary woman." "I do not ridicule them, God knows!" replied Brenda, somewhat angrily; "it is you, Minna, who turn all I say in truth and kindness, to something harsh or wicked. I look on Norna as a woman of very extraordinary abilities, which are very often united with a strong cast of insanity; and I consider her as better skilled in the signs of the weather than any woman in Zetland. But that she has any power over the elements, I no more believe, than I do in the nursery stories of King Erick, who could make the wind blow from the point he set his cap to." Minna, somewhat nettled with the obstinate incredulity of her sister, replied sharply, "And yet, Brenda, this woman--half-mad woman, and the veriest impostor--is the person by whom you choose to be advised in the matter next your own heart at this moment!" "I do not know what you mean," said Brenda, colouring deeply, and shifting to get away from her sister. But as she was now undergoing the ceremony of being laced in her turn, her sister had the means of holding her fast by the silken string with which she was fastening the boddice, and, tapping her on the neck, which expressed, by its sudden writhe, and sudden change to a scarlet hue, as much pettish confusion as she had desired to provoke, she added, more mildly, "Is it not strange, Brenda, that, used as we have been by the stranger Mordaunt Mertoun, whose assurance has brought him uninvited to a house where his presence is so unacceptable, you should still look or think of him with favour? Surely, that you do so should be a proof to you, that there are such things as spells in the country, and that you yourself labour under them. It is not for nought that Mordaunt wears a chain of elfin gold--look to it, Brenda, and be wise in time." "I have nothing to do with Mordaunt Mertoun," answered Brenda, hastily, "nor do I know or care what he or any other young man wears about his neck. I could see all the gold chains of all the bailies of Edinburgh, that Lady Glowrowrum speaks so much of, without falling in fancy with one of the wearers." And, having thus complied with the female rule of pleading not guilty in general to such an indictment, she immediately resumed, in a different tone, "But, to say the truth, Minna, I think you, and all of you, have judged far too hastily about this young friend of ours, who has been so long our most intimate companion. Mind, Mordaunt Mertoun is no more to me than he is to you--who best know how little difference he made betwixt us; and that, chain or no chain, he lived with us like a brother with two sisters; and yet you can turn him off at once, because a wandering seaman, of whom we know nothing, and a peddling jagger, whom we do know to be a thief, a cheat, and a liar, speak words and carry tales in his disfavour! I do not believe he ever said he could have his choice of either of us, and only waited to see which was to have Burgh-Westra and Bredness Voe--I do not believe he ever spoke such a word, or harboured such a thought, as that of making a choice between us." "Perhaps," said Minna, coldly, "you may have had reason to know that his choice was already determined." "I will not endure this!" said Brenda, giving way to her natural vivacity, and springing from between her sister's hands; then turning round and facing her, while her glowing cheek was rivalled in the deepness of its crimson, by as much of her neck and bosom as the upper part of the half-laced boddice permitted to be visible,--"Even from you, Minna," she said, "I will not endure this! You know that all my life I have spoken the truth, and that I love the truth; and I tell you, that Mordaunt Mertoun never in his life made distinction betwixt you and me, until"---- Here some feeling of consciousness stopped her short, and her sister replied, with a smile, "Until _when_, Brenda? Methinks, your love of truth seems choked with the sentence you were bringing out." "Until you ceased to do him the justice he deserves," said Brenda, firmly, "since I must speak out. I have little doubt that he will not long throw away his friendship on you, who hold it so lightly." "Be it so," said Minna; "you are secure from my rivalry, either in his friendship or love. But bethink you better, Brenda--this is no scandal of Cleveland's--Cleveland is incapable of slander--no falsehood of Bryce Snailsfoot--not one of our friends or acquaintance but says it has been the common talk of the island, that the daughters of Magnus Troil were patiently awaiting the choice of the nameless and birthless stranger, Mordaunt Mertoun. Is it fitting that this should be said of us, the descendants of a Norwegian Jarl, and the daughters of the first Udaller in Zetland? or, would it be modest or maidenly to submit to it unresented, were we the meanest lasses that ever lifted a milk-pail?" "The tongues of fools are no reproach," replied Brenda, warmly; "I will never quit my own thoughts of an innocent friend for the gossip of the island, which can put the worst meaning on the most innocent actions." "Hear but what our friends say," repeated Minna; "hear but the Lady Glowrowrum; hear but Maddie and Clara Groatsettar." "If I were to hear Lady Glowrowrum," said Brenda, steadily, "I should listen to the worst tongue in Zetland; and as for Maddie and Clara Groatsettar, they were both blithe enough to get Mordaunt to sit betwixt them at dinner the day before yesterday, as you might have observed yourself, but that your ear was better engaged." "Your eyes, at least, have been but indifferently engaged, Brenda," retorted the elder sister, "since they were fixed on a young man, whom all the world but yourself believes to have talked of us with the most insolent presumption; and even if he be innocently charged, Lady Glowrowrum says it is unmaidenly and bold of you even to look in the direction where he sits, knowing it must confirm such reports." "I will look which way I please," said Brenda, growing still warmer; "Lady Glowrowrum shall neither rule my thoughts, nor my words, nor my eyes. I hold Mordaunt Mertoun to be innocent,--I will look at him as such,--I will speak of him as such; and if I did not speak to him also, and behave to him as usual, it is in obedience to my father, and not for what Lady Glowrowrum, and all her nieces, had she twenty instead of two, could think, wink, nod, or tattle, about the matter that concerns them not." "Alas! Brenda," answered Minna, with calmness, "this vivacity is more than is required for the defence of the character of a mere friend!--Beware--He who ruined Norna's peace for ever, was a stranger, admitted to her affections against the will of her family." "He was a stranger," replied Brenda, with emphasis, "not only in birth, but in manners. She had not been bred up with him from her youth,--she had not known the gentleness, the frankness, of his disposition, by an intimacy of many years. He was indeed a stranger, in character, temper, birth, manners, and morals,--some wandering adventurer, perhaps, whom chance or tempest had thrown upon the islands, and who knew how to mask a false heart with a frank brow. My good sister, take home your own warning. There are other strangers at Burgh-Westra besides this poor Mordaunt Mertoun." Minna seemed for a moment overwhelmed with the rapidity with which her sister retorted her suspicion and her caution. But her natural loftiness of disposition enabled her to reply with assumed composure. "Were I to treat you, Brenda, with the want of confidence you show towards me, I might reply that Cleveland is no more to me than Mordaunt was; or than young Swartaster, or Lawrence Ericson, or any other favourite guest of my father's, now is. But I scorn to deceive you, or to disguise my thoughts.--I love Clement Cleveland." "Do not say so, my dearest sister," said Brenda, abandoning at once the air of acrimony with which the conversation had been latterly conducted, and throwing her arms round her sister's neck, with looks, and with a tone, of the most earnest affection,--"do not say so, I implore you! I will renounce Mordaunt Mertoun,--I will swear never to speak to him again; but do not repeat that you love this Cleveland!" "And why should I not repeat," said Minna, disengaging herself gently from her sister's grasp, "a sentiment in which I glory? The boldness, the strength and energy, of his character, to which command is natural, and fear unknown,--these very properties, which alarm you for my happiness, are the qualities which ensure it. Remember, Brenda, that when your foot loved the calm smooth sea-beach of the summer sea, mine ever delighted in the summit of the precipice, when the waves are in fury." "And it is even that which I dread," said Brenda; "it is even that adventurous disposition which now is urging you to the brink of a precipice more dangerous than ever was washed by a spring-tide. This man,--do not frown, I will say no slander of him,--but is he not, even in your own partial judgment, stern and overbearing? accustomed, as you say, to command; but, for that very reason, commanding where he has no right to do so, and leading whom it would most become him to follow? rushing on danger, rather for its own sake, than for any other object? And can you think of being yoked with a spirit so unsettled and stormy, whose life has hitherto been led in scenes of death and peril, and who, even while sitting by your side, cannot disguise his impatience again to engage in them? A lover, methinks, should love his mistress better than his own life; but yours, my dear Minna, loves her less than the pleasure of inflicting death on others." "And it is even for that I love him," said Minna. "I am a daughter of the old dames of Norway, who could send their lovers to battle with a smile, and slay them, with their own hands, if they returned with dishonour. My lover must scorn the mockeries by which our degraded race strive for distinction, or must practise them only in sport, and in earnest of nobler dangers. No whale-striking, bird-nesting favourite for me; my lover must be a Sea-king, or what else modern times may give that draws near to that lofty character." "Alas, my sister!" said Brenda, "it is now that I must in earnest begin to believe the force of spells and of charms. You remember the Spanish story which you took from me long since, because I said, in your admiration of the chivalry of the olden times of Scandinavia, you rivalled the extravagance of the hero.--Ah, Minna, your colour shows that your conscience checks you, and reminds you of the book I mean;--is it more wise, think you, to mistake a windmill for a giant, or the commander of a paltry corsair for a Kiempe, or a Vi-king?" Minna did indeed colour with anger at this insinuation, of which, perhaps, she felt in some degree the truth. "You have a right," she said, "to insult me, because you are possessed of my secret." Brenda's soft heart could not resist this charge of unkindness; she adjured her sister to pardon her, and the natural gentleness of Minna's feelings could not resist her entreaties. "We are unhappy," she said, as she dried her sister's tears, "that we cannot see with the same eyes--let us not make each other more so by mutual insult and unkindness. You have my secret--it will not, perhaps, long be one, for my father shall have the confidence to which he is entitled, so soon as certain circumstances will permit me to offer it. Meantime, I repeat, you have my secret, and I more than suspect that I have yours in exchange, though you refuse to own it." "How, Minna!" said Brenda; "would you have me acknowledge for any one such feelings as you allude to, ere he has said the least word that could justify such a confession?" "Surely not; but a hidden fire may be distinguished by heat as well as flame." "You understand these signs, Minna," said Brenda, hanging down her head, and in vain endeavouring to suppress the temptation to repartee which her sister's remark offered; "but I can only say, that, if ever I love at all, it shall not be until I have been asked to do so once or twice at least, which has not yet chanced to me. But do not let us renew our quarrel, and rather let us think why Norna should have told us that horrible tale, and to what she expects it should lead." "It must have been as a caution," replied Minna--"a caution which our situation, and, I will not deny it, which mine in particular, might seem to her to call for;--but I am alike strong in my own innocence, and in the honour of Cleveland." Brenda would fain have replied, that she did not confide so absolutely in the latter security as in the first; but she was prudent, and, forbearing to awaken the former painful discussion, only replied, "It is strange that Norna should have said nothing more of her lover. Surely he could not desert her in the extremity of misery to which he had reduced her?" "There may be agonies of distress," said Minna, after a pause, "in which the mind is so much jarred, that it ceases to be responsive even to the feelings which have most engrossed it;--her sorrow for her lover may have been swallowed up in horror and despair." "Or he might have fled from the islands, in fear of our father's vengeance," replied Brenda. "If for fear, or faintness of heart," said Minna, looking upwards, "he was capable of flying from the ruin which he had occasioned, I trust he has long ere this sustained the punishment which Heaven reserves for the most base and dastardly of traitors and of cowards.--Come, sister, we are ere this expected at the breakfast board." And they went thither, arm in arm, with much more of confidence than had lately subsisted between them; the little quarrel which had taken place having served the purpose of a _bourasque_, or sudden squall, which dispels mists and vapours, and leaves fair weather behind it. On their way to the breakfast apartment, they agreed that it was unnecessary, and might be imprudent, to communicate to their father the circumstance of the nocturnal visit, or to let him observe that they now knew more than formerly of the melancholy history of Norna. AUTHOR'S NOTES. Note I., p. 22.--NORSE FRAGMENTS. Near the conclusion of Chapter II, it is noticed that the old Norwegian sagas were preserved and often repeated by the fishermen of Orkney and Zetland, while that language was not yet quite forgotten. Mr. Baikie of Tankerness, a most respectable inhabitant of Kirkwall, and an Orkney proprietor, assured me of the following curious fact. A clergyman, who was not long deceased, remembered well when some remnants of the Norse were still spoken in the island called North Ronaldshaw. When Gray's Ode, entitled the "Fatal Sisters," was first published, or at least first reached that remote island, the reverend gentleman had the well-judged curiosity to read it to some of the old persons of the isle, as a poem which regarded the history of their own country. They listened with great attention to the preliminary stanzas:-- "Now the storm begins to lour, Haste the loom of hell prepare, Iron sleet of arrowry shower Hurtles in the darken'd air." But when they had heard a verse or two more, they interrupted the reader, telling him they knew the song well in the Norse language, and had often sung it to him when he asked them for an old song. They called it the Magicians, or the Enchantresses. It would have been singular news to the elegant translator, when executing his version from the text of Bartholine, to have learned that the Norse original was still preserved by tradition in a remote corner of the British dominions. The circumstances will probably justify what is said in the text concerning the traditions of the inhabitants of those remote isles, at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Even yet, though the Norse language is entirely disused, except in so far as particular words and phrases are still retained, these fishers of the Ultima Thule are a generation much attached to these ancient legends. Of this the author learned a singular instance. About twenty years ago, a missionary clergyman had taken the resolution of traversing those wild islands, where he supposed there might be a lack of religious instruction, which he believed himself capable of supplying. After being some days at sea in an open boat, he arrived at North Ronaldshaw, where his appearance excited great speculation. He was a very little man, dark-complexioned, and from the fatigue he had sustained in removing from one island to another, appeared before them ill-dressed and unshaved; so that the inhabitants set him down as one of the Ancient Picts, or, as they call them with the usual strong guttural, Peghts. How they might have received the poor preacher in this character, was at least dubious; and the schoolmaster of the parish, who had given quarters to the fatigued traveller, set off to consult with Mr. S----, the able and ingenious engineer of the Scottish Light-House Service, who chanced to be on the island. As his skill and knowledge were in the highest repute, it was conceived that Mr. S---- could decide at once whether the stranger was a Peght, or ought to be treated as such. Mr. S---- was so good-natured as to attend the summons, with the view of rendering the preacher some service. The poor missionary, who had watched for three nights, was now fast asleep, little dreaming what odious suspicions were current respecting him. The inhabitants were assembled round the door. Mr. S----, understanding the traveller's condition, declined disturbing him, upon which the islanders produced a pair of very little uncouth-looking boots, with prodigiously thick soles, and appealed to him whether it was possible such articles of raiment could belong to any one but a Peght. Mr. S----, finding the prejudices of the natives so strong, was induced to enter the sleeping apartment of the traveller, and was surprised to recognise in the supposed Peght a person whom he had known in his worldly profession of an Edinburgh shopkeeper, before he had assumed his present vocation. Of course he was enabled to refute all suspicions of Peghtism. Note II., p. 23.--MONSTERS OF THE NORTHERN SEAS. I have said, in the text, that the wondrous tales told by Pontoppidan, the Archbishop of Upsal, still find believers in the Northern Archipelago. It is in vain they are cancelled even in the later editions of Guthrie's Grammar, of which instructive work they used to form the chapter far most attractive to juvenile readers. But the same causes which probably gave birth to the legends concerning mermaids, sea-snakes, krakens, and other marvellous inhabitants of the Northern Ocean, are still afloat in those climates where they took their rise. They had their origin probably from the eagerness of curiosity manifested by our elegant poetess, Mrs. Hemans: "What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, Thou ever-sounding and mysterious Sea?" The additional mystic gloom which rests on these northern billows for half the year, joined to the imperfect glance obtained of occasional objects, encourage the timid or the fanciful to give way to imagination, and frequently to shape out a distinct story from some object half seen and imperfectly examined. Thus, some years since, a large object was observed in the beautiful Bay of Scalloway in Zetland, so much in vulgar opinion resembling the kraken, that though it might be distinguished for several days, if the exchange of darkness to twilight can be termed so, yet the hardy boatmen shuddered to approach it, for fear of being drawn down by the suction supposed to attend its sinking. It was probably the hull of some vessel which had foundered at sea. The belief in mermaids, so fanciful and pleasing in itself, is ever and anon refreshed by a strange tale from the remote shores of some solitary islet. The author heard a mariner of some reputation in his class vouch for having seen the celebrated sea-serpent. It appeared, so far as could be guessed, to be about a hundred feet long, with the wild mane and fiery eyes which old writers ascribe to the monster; but it is not unlikely the spectator might, in the doubtful light, be deceived by the appearance of a good Norway log floating on the waves. I have only to add, that the remains of an animal, supposed to belong to this latter species, were driven on shore in the Zetland Isles, within the recollection of man. Part of the bones were sent to London, and pronounced by Sir Joseph Banks to be those of a basking shark; yet it would seem that an animal so well known, ought to have been immediately distinguished by the northern fishermen. Note III., p. 104.--SALE OF WINDS. The King of Sweden, the same Eric quoted by Mordaunt, "was," says Olaus Magnus, "in his time held second to none in the magical art; and he was so familiar with the evil spirits whom he worshipped, that what way soever he turned his cap, the wind would presently blow that way. For this he was called Windycap." _Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus. Romæ, 1555._ It is well known that the Laplanders derive a profitable trade in selling _winds_, but it is perhaps less notorious, that within these few years such a commodity might be purchased on British ground, where it was likely to be in great request. At the village of Stromness, on the Orkney main island, called Pomona, lived, in 1814, an aged dame, called Bessie Millie, who helped out her subsistence by selling favourable winds to mariners. He was a venturous master of a vessel who left the roadstead of Stromness without paying his offering to propitiate Bessie Millie; her fee was extremely moderate, being exactly sixpence, for which, as she explained herself, she boiled her kettle and gave the bark advantage of her prayers, for she disclaimed all unlawful arts. The wind thus petitioned for was sure, she said, to arrive, though occasionally the mariners had to wait some time for it. The woman's dwelling and appearance were not unbecoming her pretensions; her house, which was on the brow of the steep hill on which Stromness is founded, was only accessible by a series of dirty and precipitous lanes, and for exposure might have been the abode of Eolus himself, in whose commodities the inhabitant dealt. She herself was, as she told us, nearly one hundred years old, withered and dried up like a mummy. A clay-coloured kerchief, folded round her head, corresponded in colour to her corpse-like complexion. Two light-blue eyes that gleamed with a lustre like that of insanity, an utterance of astonishing rapidity, a nose and chin that almost met together, and a ghastly expression of cunning, gave her the effect of Hecaté. She remembered Gow the pirate, who had been a native of these islands, in which he closed his career, as mentioned in the preface. Such was Bessie Millie, to whom the mariners paid a sort of tribute, with a feeling betwixt jest and earnest. Note IV., p. 113.--RELUCTANCE TO SAVE A DROWNING MAN. It is remarkable, that in an archipelago where so many persons must be necessarily endangered by the waves, so strange and inhuman a maxim should have ingrafted itself upon the minds of a people otherwise kind, moral, and hospitable. But all with whom I have spoken agree, that it was almost general in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and was with difficulty weeded out by the sedulous instructions of the clergy, and the rigorous injunctions of the proprietors. There is little doubt it had been originally introduced as an excuse for suffering those who attempted to escape from the wreck to perish unassisted, so that, there being no survivor, she might be considered as lawful plunder. A story was told me, I hope an untrue one, that a vessel having got ashore among the breakers on one of the remote Zetland islands, five or six men, the whole or greater part of the unfortunate crew, endeavoured to land by assistance of a hawser, which they had secured to a rock; the inhabitants were assembled, and looked on with some uncertainty, till an old man said, "Sirs, if these men come ashore, the additional mouths will eat all the meal we have in store for winter; and how are we to get more?" A young fellow, moved with this argument, struck the rope asunder with his axe, and all the poor wretches were immersed among the breakers, and perished. Note V., p. 121.--MAIR WRECKS ERE WINTER. The ancient Zetlander looked upon the sea as the provider of his living, not only by the plenty produced by the fishings, but by the spoil of wrecks. Some particular islands have fallen off very considerably in their rent, since the commissioners of the lighthouses have ordered lights on the Isle of Sanda and the Pentland Skerries. A gentleman, familiar with those seas, expressed surprise at seeing the farmer of one of the isles in a boat with a very old pair of sails. "Had it been His will"--said the man, with an affected deference to Providence, very inconsistent with the sentiment of his speech--"Had it been _His_ will that light had not been placed yonder, I would have had enough of new sails last winter." Note VI., p. 172.--ZETLAND CORN-MILLS. There is certainly something very extraordinary to a stranger in Zetland corn-mills. They are of the smallest possible size; the wheel which drives them is horizontal, and the cogs are turned diagonally to the water. The beam itself stands upright, and is inserted in a stone quern of the old-fashioned construction, which it turns round, and thus performs its duty. Had Robinson Crusoe ever been in Zetland, he would have had no difficulty in contriving a machine for grinding corn in his desert island. These mills are thatched over in a little hovel, which has much the air of a pig-sty. There may be five hundred such mills on one island, not capable any one of them of grinding above a sackful of corn at a time. Note VII., p. 234.--THE SWORD-DANCE. The Sword-Dance is celebrated in general terms by Olaus Magnus. He seems to have considered it as peculiar to the Norwegians, from whom it may have passed to the Orkneymen and Zetlanders, with other northern customs. "OF THEIR DANCING IN ARMS. "Moreover, the northern Goths and Swedes had another sport to exercise youth withall, that they will dance and skip amongst naked swords and dangerous weapons. And this they do after the manner of masters of defence, as they are taught from their youth by skilful teachers, that dance before them, and sing to it. And this play is showed especially about Shrovetide, called in Italian _Macchararum_. For, before carnivals, all the youth dance for eight days together, holding their swords up, but within the scabbards, for three times turning about; and then they do it with their naked swords lifted up. After this, turning more moderately, taking the points and pummels one of the other, they change ranks, and place themselves in an triagonal figure, and this they call _Rosam_; and presently they dissolve it by drawing back their swords and lifting them up, that upon every one's head there may be made a square Rosa, and then by a most nimbly whisking their swords about collaterally, they quickly leap back, and end the sport, which they guide with pipes or songs, or both together; first by a more heavy, then by a more vehement, and lastly, by a most vehement dancing. But this speculation is scarce to be understood but by those who look on, how comely and decent it is, when at one word, or one commanding, the whole armed multitude is directed to fall to fight, and clergymen may exercise themselves, and mingle themselves amongst others at this sport, because it is all guided by most wise reason." To the Primate's account of the sword-dance, I am able to add the words sung or chanted, on occasion of this dance, as it is still performed in Papa Stour, a remote island of Zetland, where alone the custom keeps its ground. It is, it will be observed by antiquaries, a species of play or mystery, in which the Seven Champions of Christendom make their appearance, as in the interlude presented in "All's Well that Ends Well." This dramatic curiosity was most kindly procured for my use by Dr. Scott of Hazlar Hospital, son of my friend Mr. Scott of Mewbie, Zetland. Mr. Hibbert has, in his Description of the Zetland Islands, given an account of the sword-dance, but somewhat less full than the following: "WORDS USED AS A PRELUDE TO THE SWORD-DANCE, A DANISH OR NORWEGIAN BALLET, COMPOSED SOME CENTURIES AGO, AND PRESERVED IN PAPA STOUR, ZETLAND. PERSONÆ DRAMATIS.[61] (_Enter_ MASTER, _in the character of_ ST. GEORGE.) Brave gentles all within this boor,[62] If ye delight in any sport, Come see me dance upon this floor, Which to you all shall yield comfort. Then shall I dance in such a sort, As possible I may or can; You, minstrel man, play me a Porte,[63] That I on this floor may prove a man. (_He bows, and dances in a line._) Now have I danced with heart and hand, Brave gentles all, as you may see, For I have been tried in many a land, As yet the truth can testify; In England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Italy, and Spain, Have I been tried with that good sword of steel. (_Draws, and flourishes._) Yet, I deny that ever a man did make me yield; For in my body there is strength, As by my manhood may be seen; And I, with that good sword of length, Have oftentimes in perils been, And over champions I was king. And by the strength of this right hand, Once on a day I kill'd fifteen, And left them dead upon the land. Therefore, brave minstrel, do not care, But play to me a Porte most light, That I no longer do forbear, But dance in all these gentles' sight; Although my strength makes you abased, Brave gentles all, be not afraid, For here are six champions, with me, staid, All by my manhood I have raised. (_He dances._) Since I have danced, I think it best To call my brethren in your sight, That I may have a little rest, And they may dance with all their might; With heart and hand as they are knights, And shake their swords of steel so bright, And show their main strength on this floor, For we shall have another bout Before we pass out of this boor. Therefore, brave minstrel, do not care To play to me a Porte most light, That I no longer do forbear, But dance in all these gentles' sight. (_He dances, and then introduces his knights, as under._) Stout James of Spain, both tried and stour,[64] Thine acts are known full well indeed; And champion Dennis, a French knight, Who stout and bold is to be seen; And David, a Welshman born, Who is come of noble blood; And Patrick also, who blew the horn, An Irish knight, amongst the wood. Of Italy, brave Anthony the good, And Andrew of Scotland King; St. George of England, brave indeed, Who to the Jews wrought muckle tinte.[65] Away with this!--Let us come to sport, Since that ye have a mind to war, Since that ye have this bargain sought, Come let us fight and do not fear. Therefore, brave minstrel, do not care To play to me a Porte most light, That I no longer do forbear, But dance in all these gentles' sight. (_He dances, and advances to JAMES of Spain._) Stout James of Spain, both tried and stour, Thine acts are known full well indeed, Present thyself within our sight, Without either fear or dread. Count not for favour or for feid, Since of thy acts thou hast been sure; Brave James of Spain, I will thee lead, To prove thy manhood on this floor. (JAMES _dances_.) Brave champion Dennis, a French knight, Who stout and bold is to be seen, Present thyself here in our sight, Thou brave French knight, Who bold hast been; Since thou such valiant acts hast done, Come let us see some of them now With courtesy, thou brave French knight, Draw out thy sword of noble hue. (DENNIS _dances, while the others retire to a side_.) Brave David a bow must string, and with awe Set up a wand upon a stand, And that brave David will cleave in twa.[66] (DAVID _dances solus._) Here is, I think, an Irish knight, Who does not fear, or does not fright, To prove thyself a valiant man, As thou hast done full often bright; Brave Patrick, dance, if that thou can. (_He dances._) Thou stout Italian, come thou here; Thy name is Anthony, most stout; Draw out thy sword that is most clear, And do thou fight without any doubt; Thy leg thou shake, thy neck thou lout,[67] And show some courtesy on this floor, For we shall have another bout, Before we pass out of this boor. Thou kindly Scotsman, come thou here; Thy name is Andrew of Fair Scotland; Draw out thy sword that is most clear, Fight for thy king with thy right hand; And aye as long as thou canst stand, Fight for thy king with all thy heart; And then, for to confirm his band, Make all his enemies for to smart.--(_He dances._) (_Music begins._) FIGUIR.[68] "The six stand in rank with their swords reclining on their shoulders. The Master (St. George) dances, and then strikes the sword of James of Spain, who follows George, then dances, strikes the sword of Dennis, who follows behind James. In like manner the rest--the music playing--swords as before. After the six are brought out of rank, they and the master form a circle, and hold the swords point and hilt. This circle is danced round twice. The whole, headed by the master, pass under the swords held in a vaulted manner. They jump over the swords. This naturally places the swords across, which they disentangle by passing under their right sword. They take up the seven swords, and form a circle, in which they dance round. "The master runs under the sword opposite, which he jumps over backwards. The others do the same. He then passes under the right-hand sword, which the others follow, in which position they dance, until commanded by the master, when they form into a circle, and dance round as before. They then jump over the right-hand sword, by which means their backs are to the circle, and their hands across their backs. They dance round in that form until the master calls 'Loose,' when they pass under the right sword, and are in a perfect circle. "The master lays down his sword, and lays hold of the point of James's sword. He then turns himself, James, and the others, into a clew. When so formed, he passes under out of the midst of the circle; the others follow; they vault as before. After several other evolutions, they throw themselves into a circle, with their arms across the breast. They afterwards form such figures as to form a shield of their swords, and the shield is so compact that the master and his knights dance alternately with this shield upon their heads. It is then laid down upon the floor. Each knight lays hold of their former points and hilts with their hands across, which disentangle by figuirs directly contrary to those that formed the shield. This finishes the Ballet. "EPILOGUE. Mars does rule, he bends his brows, He makes us all agast;[69] After the few hours that we stay here, Venus will rule at last. Farewell, farewell, brave gentles all, That herein do remain, I wish you health and happiness Till we return again. [_Exeunt._" The manuscript from which the above was copied was transcribed from _a very old one_, by Mr. William Henderson, Jun., of Papa Stour, in Zetland. Mr. Henderson's copy is not dated, but bears his own signature, and, from various circumstances, it is known to have been written about the year 1788. Note VIII., p. 299--THE DWARFIE STONE. This is one of the wonders of the Orkney Islands, though it has been rather undervalued by their late historian, Mr. Barry. The island of Hoy rises abruptly, starting as it were out of the sea, which is contrary to the gentle and flat character of the other Isles of Orkney. It consists of a mountain, having different eminences or peaks. It is very steep, furrowed with ravines, and placed so as to catch the mists of the Western Ocean, and has a noble and picturesque effect from all points of view. The highest peak is divided from another eminence, called the Ward-hill, by a long swampy valley full of peat-bogs. Upon the slope of this last hill, and just where the principal mountain of Hoy opens in a hollow swamp, or corrie, lies what is called the Dwarfie Stone. It is a great fragment of sandstone, composing one solid mass, which has long since been detached from a belt of the same materials, cresting the eminence above the spot where it now lies, and which has slid down till it reached its present situation. The rock is about seven feet high, twenty-two feet long, and seventeen feet broad. The upper end of it is hollowed by iron tools, of which the marks are evident, into a sort of apartment, containing two beds of stone, with a passage between them. The uppermost and largest bed is five feet eight inches long, by two feet broad, which was supposed to be used by the dwarf himself; the lower couch is shorter, and rounded off, instead of being squared at the corners. There is an entrance of about three feet and a half square, and a stone lies before it calculated to fit the opening. A sort of skylight window gives light to the apartment. We can only guess at the purpose of this monument, and different ideas have been suggested. Some have supposed it the work of some travelling mason; but the _cui bono_ would remain to be accounted for. The Rev. Mr. Barry conjectures it to be a hermit's cell; but it displays no symbol of Christianity, and the door opens to the westward. The Orcadian traditions allege the work to be that of a dwarf, to whom they ascribe supernatural powers, and a malevolent disposition, the attributes of that race in Norse mythology. Whoever inhabited this singular den certainly enjoyed "Pillow cold, and sheets not warm." I observed, that commencing just opposite to the Dwarfie Stone, and extending in a line to the sea-beach, there are a number of small barrows, or cairns, which seem to connect the stone with a very large cairn where we landed. This curious monument may therefore have been intended as a temple of some kind to the Northern Dii Manes, to which the cairns might direct worshippers. Note IX., p. 299.--CARBUNCLE ON THE WARD-HILL. "At the west end of this stone, (_i. e._ the Dwarfie Stone,) stands an exceeding high mountain of a steep ascent, called the Ward-hill of Hoy, near the top of which, in the months of May, June, and July, about midnight, is seen something that shines and sparkles admirably, and which is often seen a great way off. It hath shined more brightly before than it does now, and though many have climbed up the hill, and attempted to search for it, yet they could find nothing. The vulgar talk of it as some enchanted carbuncle, but I take it rather to be some water sliding down the face of a smooth rock, which, when the sun, at such a time, shines upon, the reflection causeth that admirable splendour."--DR. WALLACE'S _Description of the Islands of Orkney_, 12mo, 1700, p. 52. FOOTNOTES: [61] So placed in the old MS. [62] _Boor_--so spelt, to accord with the vulgar pronunciation of the word _bower_. [63] _Porte_--so spelt in the original. The word is known as indicating a piece of music on the bagpipe, to which ancient instrument, which is of Scandinavian origin, the sword-dance may have been originally composed. [64] _Stour_, great. [65] _Muckle tinte_, much loss or harm; so in MS. [66] Something is evidently amiss or omitted here. David probably exhibited some feat of archery. [67] _Lout_--to bend or bow down, pronounced _loot_, as _doubt_ is _doot_ in Scotland. [68] _Figuir_--so spelt in MS. [69] _Agast_--so spelt in MS. EDITOR'S NOTES. (_a_) p. xxix. "There came a ghost to Margaret's door." In some versions of "Clerk Saunders" the lady's troth is "streeked" on a rod of glass, and so she and the ghost are freed from their plighted love. (_b_) p. 15. "Scat, wattle, hawkhen, hagalef." Different kinds of duties exacted in Zetland. (_c_) p. 18. "Berserkars." Apparently there was a time when these formidable persons were merely champion warriors, a kind of professional soldiery. In the "Raven Song," an old Norse lay, the Valkyrie asks the Raven about Harold Fair Hair's Bearsarks. "Wolfcoats they call them, that bear bloody targets in battle, that redden their spear heads when they come into fight, when they are at work together. The wise king, I trow, will only reward men of high renown among them that smite on the shield." Later, perhaps, the Bearsarks won their evil reputation, as ravening maniacs of battle, given to biting their shields and behaving in an hysterical manner. In such sagas as that of Grettir they are violent bullies, sometimes selling their services. (See Powell and Vigfussen's "Corpus Boreale," i. 257.) (_d_) p. 27. Motto. The second verse is not part of the original ballad, which was altered by Allan Ramsay. (_e_) p. 39. "Bolts and bars in Scotland." There are still places so innocent--in Galloway, at least--that doors and windows may be, and are, left open all night. (_f_) p. 45. "Deilbelicket." This is the name of an old Scotch dish, of which goose and gooseberries are component parts. The recipe occurs in Gait's "Ayrshire Legatees." (_g_) p. 46. "James Guthrie." An account of this martyr of the Covenant will be found in the Editor's Notes to "Old Mortality." (_h_) p. 151. "Lucas Jacobson Debes." "Foeroae et Foeroa Reserata. A description of the Isles and inhabitants of Faeroe, Englished by John Sterpin," 12mo, London 1676, Abbotsford Library. (_i_) p. 173. "Multures--lock, gowpen, and knaveship." Feudal and other dues on corn ground at the laird's mill. (_k_) p. 231. "The wilds of Strathnavern." Montrose met his final defeat at Strathoykel, at a steep rounded hill, still called the Rock of Lament. His men were driven into the Kyle, which there is deep and wide. Montrose fled up the Oykel, into Assynt. The Naver flows due north, the Oykel from west to east. (_l_) p. 234. Sword Dance. Scott can hardly have escaped being familiar with the degradation of this dance as played at Christmas by the Guizards. They are lads who go round acting and dancing in kitchens. Their songs may be found in Chambers's "Popular Rhymes of Scotland." Guizards performed at the Folk-Lore Congress in London 1891. (_m_) p. 257. "The battue in Ettrick Forest, for the destruction of the foxes." This ceased when the Duke of Buccleugh hunted the district, but foxes are still shot in the inaccessible heights of Meggat Water. (_n_) p. 261. Sharing the whale. An account of a battle for a stranded whale may be read in the Saga of Grettir, translated by Mr. Morris and Mr. Magnussen. (_o_) p. 279. For [Greek: Nephelêgeréta Zeus] read [Greek: Nephelêgeréta Zeús]. (_p_) p. 299. "That wonderful carbuncle." This must be the origin of Hawthorne's tale "The Great Carbuncle." ANDREW LANG. _August 1893._ GLOSSARY. A', all. Ae, one. Aff, off. Afore, before. Aigre, sour. Aik, the oak. Ain, own. Air, an open sea-beach. Airn, iron. A-low, ablaze. Amang, among. An, if. Ance, once. Ane, one. Anent, regarding. Aneugh, eneugh, enow, enough. Angus, Forfarshire. Aroint, avaunt. Aught, to possess or belong to. Auld, old. Auld-world, ancient, old-fashioned. Aver, a cart-horse. Awa, away. Awmous, alms. Awn, a beard (of grain). Awsome, fearful. Back-spauld, the back of the shoulder. Bailie, a magistrate. Bairn, a child. Baith, both. Banning, cursing. Bauld, bold. Bear, a kind of barley. Bear-braird, barley-sprouting. Bee-skep, a bee-hive. Bell-the-cat, to contend with. Bern, a child. Bicker, a wooden dish. Bide, to stay. Big, to build. Biggin, a building. Biggit, built. Billie, brother. Bittle, a wooden bat for the beating of linen. Bland, a drink made from butter-milk. Bleeze, blaze. Blithe, glad. Blurt, to burst out speaking. Bonally, a parting drink. Bonnie, pretty. Bonnie-die, a toy, a trinket. Bonnie-wallies, good things, gewgaws. Bourasque, a sudden squall. Braid, broad. Braws, fine clothes. Breekless, trouserless. Burn-brae, the acclivity at the bottom of which a rivulet runs. Callant, a lad. Canna, cannot. Canny, prudent. Canty, lively and cheerful. Carles, farm servants. Carline, a witch. Cart-avers, cart-horses. Cateran, a Highland robber. Cauld, cold. Caup, a cup. "Causeyed syver," a cause-wayed sewer. Certie--"my certie!" my faith! Change-house, an inn. Chapman, a small merchant or pedlar. Chield, a fellow. Claith, cloth. Clatter, to tattle. Claver, to chatter. Clavers, idle talk. Clog, a small short log, a billet of wood. Coal-heugh, a coal-pit. Coble, a small boat. Cog, a wooden bowl. Cogfu', the full of a wooden bowl. Coorse, coarse. Coup, to exchange. Crack, to boast. Creel, a basket. "In a creel," foolish. Croft-land, land of superior quality, which was still cropped. Crowdie, meal and water stirred up together. Cummer, a gossip. Curch, a kerchief for covering the head. Cusser, a stallion. Daffing, larking. Daft, crazy. Daikering, sauntering. Dead-thraw, the death-throes. Deftly, handsomely. Deil, the devil. Ding, to knock. Dinna, do not. Dirk, a dagger. Doited, stupid. Doun, down. Dour, sullen, hard, stubborn. Dowlas, a strong linen cloth. Drammock, raw meal and water. Drouth, thirst. Duds, clothes. Een, eyes. Embaye, to enclose. Equals-aquals, in the way of division strictly equal. Fa', fall. Factor, a land steward. "Farcie on his face!" a malediction. Fash, fashery, trouble. Ferlies, unusual events or things. "Ferlies make fools fain," wonders make fools eager. Fey, fated, or predestined to speedy death. Fifish, crazy, eccentric. Fir-clog, a small log of fir. Flang, flung. Flichter, to flutter or tremble. "Flinching a whale," slicing the blubber from the bones. "Floatsome and jetsome," articles floated or cast away on the sea. "Fool carle," a clown, a stupid fellow. Forby, besides. Forpit, a measure = the fourth part of a peck. Fowd, the chief judge or magistrate. Frae, from. Freit, a charm or superstition. Fule, a fool. Gaberlunzie, a tinker or beggar. Gaed, went. Gait, gate, way, direction. Gane, gone. Gang, go. Ganging, going. Gangrel, vagrant. Gar, to oblige, to force. Gascromh, an instrument for trenching ground, shaped like a currier's knife with a crooked handle. "Gay mony," a good many. Gear, property. Gie, give. Gills, the jaws. Gin, if. Gio, a deep ravine which admits the sea. Girdle, an iron plate on which to fire cakes. Glamour, a fascination or charm. Glebe, land belonging to the parish minister in right of his office. Glower, to gaze. Gowd, gold. Gowk, a fool. Gowpen, the full of both hands. Graip, a three-pronged pitch-fork. Graith, furniture. Grew, to shiver. The flesh is said to _grew_ when a chilly sensation passes over the surface of the body. Grist, a mill fee payable in kind. Gude, good. Gudeman, gudewife, the heads of the house. Gue, a two-stringed violin. Guide, to treat, to take care of. Guizards, maskers or mummers. Gyre-carline, a hag. Haaf, deep-sea fishing. Haaf-fish, a large kind of seal. Hae, have. Haft, to fix, to settle. Hagalef, payment for liberty to cast peats. Haill, whole. Hald, hold. Halier, a cavern into which the tide flows. Hallanshaker, a vagabond, a beggar. Halse, the throat. Hand-quern, a hand-mill. Happer, the hopper of a mill. Harry, to plunder. Har'st, harvest. Hasp, a hank of yarn. "Ravelled hasp," everything in confusion. Haud, hauld, hold. Havings, behaviour. Hawkhen, hens exacted by the royal falconer on his visits to the islands. Helyer, a cavern into which the tide flows. Hialtland, the old name for Shetland. Hinny, a term of endearment=honey. Hirple, to halt, to limp. Hirsel, to move or slide down. Housewife-skep, housewifery. Hout! tut! Howf, a haunt, a haven. Ilk, of the same name. Ilk, ilka, each, every. Ill-fa'red, ill-favoured. "In a creel," foolish. Infield, land continually cropped. In-town, land adjacent to the farmhouse. Isna, is not. Jagger, a pedlar. Jaud, a jade. Jougs, the pillory. Kail-pot, a large pot for boiling broth. Kain--"to pay the kain," to suffer severely. Ken, to know. "Ken'dfolks," "ken'dfreend," well-known people, a well-known friend. Kiempe, a Norse champion. Kist, a chest. Kittle, difficult, ticklish. Kittywake, a kind of sea-gull. "Knapped Latin," spoke Latin. Knave, a miller's boy. Knaveship, a small due of meal paid to the miller. Kraken, a fabulous sea-monster. Kyloes, small black cattle. Lad-bairn, a male child. Lair, learning. Lang, long. Langspiel, an obsolete musical instrument. Lave, the rest. Lawright-man, an officer whose chief duty was the regulation of weights and measures. _Lawting_, a court of law. _Limmer_, a woman of loose character. Lispund, the fifteenth part of a barrel, a weight used in Orkney and Shetland. List, to wish, to choose. Loan, a lane, an enclosed road. Lock, a handful. Loo'ed, loved. Loom, a vessel. Loon, a lad, a fellow. Lowe, a flame. Lug, the ear. Lum, a chimney. Mair, more. "Mair by token," moreover, especially. Maist, most. Markal, the head of the plough. Maun, must. Mearns, Kincardineshire. Meltith, food, a meal. Mense, manners. "Merk of land," originally equal to 1600 square fathoms. "Miching malicho," lurking mischief. Mickle, much. Mill-eye, the eye or opening in the _hupes_ or cases of a mill at which the meal is let out. Mind, to remember. Mony, many. "Morn, the," to-morrow. "Mould board," the wooden board of the plough which turns over the ground. Muckle, much, big. Multures, dues paid for grinding corn. "My certie!" my faith! Na, nae, no, not. Nacket, a portable refreshment or luncheon. Naig, a nag. Nane, none. Napery, household linen. Natheless, nevertheless. Neist, next. Nievefu', a handful. Noup, a headland precipitous to the sea and sloping inland. Nowt, black cattle. Ony, any. Or, before. O't, of it. Out-taken, except. Out-town, land at a distance from the farmhouse. Ower, over. Owerlay, a cravat. Owsen, oxen. Parritch, porridge. Partan, a crab. Pawky, wily, slyly. Peat-moss, the place whence peats are dug. Peltrie, trash. Pit, put. "Plantie cruive," a kail-yard. Pleugh, a plough. Pouch, a pocket. Puir, poor. Pund Scots = 1_s._ 8_d._ sterling. Quaigh, a small wooden cup. Quean, a disrespectful term for a woman. Quern, a hand-mill. Raddman, a councillor. Randy, riotous, disorderly. Ranzelman, a constable. Redding-kaim, a wide-toothed comb for the hair. Reek, smoke. Reimkennar, one who knows mystic rhyme. Reset, a place of shelter. Rigging, a ridge, a roof. Ritt, a scratch or incision. Riva, a cleft in a rock. Rock, a distaff. Rokelay, a short cloak. "Roose the ford," judge of the ford. Roost, a strong and boisterous current. Rotton, a rat. Sackless, innocent. Sae, so. Sain, to bless. Sair, sore. Sall, shall. Sandie-lavrock, a sand-lark. Sang, a song. Saul, the soul. Saunt, a saint. Saut, salt. Sax, six. Scald, a bard or minstrel. Scart, a cormorant. Scart, to scratch. Scat, a land-tax paid to the Crown. Scathold, a common. Scaur, a cliff. "Sclate stane," slate stone. Scowrie, shabby, mean. Scowries, young sea-gulls. Sealgh, sealchie, a seal. Setting, fitting, becoming. "Sharney peat," fuel made of cow's dung. Sheltie, a Shetland pony. Shouldna, should not. Shouthers, the shoulders. Sic, siccan, such. Siccar, sure. Siever, a sewer. Siller, money. Sillocks, the fry of the coal-fish. Skeoe, a stone hut for drying fish. Skerry, a flat insulated rock. Skirl, to scream. Skudler, the leader of a band of mummers. Slap, a gap or pass. Slocken, to quench. Sneck, the latch of the door. Sock, a ploughshare. Sole-clout, a thick plate of cast metal attached to that part of the plough which runs on the ground, for saving the wooden heel from being worn. Sorner, a sturdy beggar, an obtrusive guest. Sorning, masterful begging. Sort, a small number. Sough, a sigh; to emit a rushing or whistling sound. Spreacherie, movables. Spunk, a match. Stack, an insulated precipitous rock. "Stilts of plough," handles. Stithy, an anvil. Stot, a bullock. Streek, to stretch. Striddle, to straddle. Sucken, mill dues. Suld, should. Sumph, a lubberly fellow. Sune, soon. Swalled, swollen. Swap, to exchange. Syne, since, ago. Syver, a sewer. Tacksman, a tenant of the higher class. Taen, taken. Tane, the one. Tangs, tongs. Thae, these, those. Theekit, thatched. Thegither, together. Thigger, a beggar. Thigging, begging. Thirl, the obligation on a tenant to have his flour ground at a certain mill. Thirled, bound to. Thole, to endure. Thrawart, forward, perverse. Tither, the other. Tittie, a little sister. Tocher, dowry, estate. Toom, empty. Tows, ropes. Toy, a linen or woollen headdress hanging down over the shoulders. "Tree and tow," the gallows. Trindle, to trundle. Trock, to barter. Trow, to believe, to think, to guess. Trow or Drow, a spirit or elf believed in by the Norse. Twa, two. Twal, twelve. Twiscar, tuskar, a spade for cutting peats. Udaller, a freehold proprietor. Ultima Thule, farthest Thule. Ulzie, oil. Umquhile, the late. Uncanny, dangerous; supposed to possess supernatural powers. Unce, ounce. Unco, very, strange, great, particularly. Ure, the eighth part of a merk of land. Usquebaugh, whisky. Vivers, victuals. Voe, an inlet of the sea. Wad, would. Wadmaal, homespun woollen cloth. Wakerife, watchful, wakeful. Wan, won, got. Warlock, a wizard. Watna, know not. Wattle, an assessment for the salary of the magistrate. Waur, worse. Wee, small, little. Weel, well. Well, a whirlpool. Wha, who. Whan, when. "What for," why. Wheen, a few. Whigamore, a term of the same meaning with _Whig_, applied to Presbyterians, but more contemptuous. Whiles, sometimes. Whilk, which. Whingers, hangers, knives. Whittie-whattieing, shuffling or wheedling. Whittle, a knife. Wi', with. Wick, an open bay. Win, to get. Withy, a rope of twisted wands. Wot, to know. Wowf, crazy. Yarn-windle, a yarn-winder. Yestreen, yesterday. Yett, a gate. END OF VOL. I. * * * * * THE PIRATE. Nothing in him---- But doth suffer a sea-change. _Tempest._ THE PIRATE. CHAPTER I. But lost to me, for ever lost those joys, Which reason scatters, and which time destroys. No more the midnight fairy-train I view, All in the merry moonlight tippling dew. Even the last lingering fiction of the brain, The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again. _The Library._ The moral bard, from whom we borrow the motto of this chapter, has touched a theme with which most readers have some feelings that vibrate unconsciously. Superstition, when not arrayed in her full horrors, but laying a gentle hand only on her suppliant's head, had charms which we fail not to regret, even in those stages of society from which her influence is wellnigh banished by the light of reason and general education. At least, in more ignorant periods, her system of ideal terrors had something in them interesting to minds which had few means of excitement. This is more especially true of those lighter modifications of superstitious feelings and practices which mingle in the amusements of the ruder ages, and are, like the auguries of Hallow-e'en in Scotland, considered partly as matter of merriment, partly as sad and prophetic earnest. And, with similar feelings, people even of tolerable education have, in our times, sought the cell of a fortune-teller, upon a frolic, as it is termed, and yet not always in a disposition absolutely sceptical towards the responses they receive. When the sisters of Burgh-Westra arrived in the apartment destined for a breakfast, as ample as that which we have described on the preceding morning, and had undergone a jocular rebuke from the Udaller for their late attendance, they found the company, most of whom had already breakfasted, engaged in an ancient Norwegian custom, of the character which we have just described. It seems to have been borrowed from those poems of the Scalds, in which champions and heroines are so often represented as seeking to know their destiny from some sorceress or prophetess, who, as in the legend called by Gray the Descent of Odin, awakens by the force of Runic rhyme the unwilling revealer of the doom of fate, and compels from her answers, often of dubious import, but which were then believed to express some shadow of the events of futurity. An old sibyl, Euphane Fea, the housekeeper we have already mentioned, was installed in the recess of a large window, studiously darkened by bear-skins and other miscellaneous drapery, so as to give it something the appearance of a Laplander's hut, and accommodated, like a confessional chair, with an aperture, which permitted the person within to hear with ease whatever questions should be put, though not to see the querist. Here seated, the voluspa, or sibyl, was to listen to the rhythmical enquiries which should be made to her, and return an extemporaneous answer. The drapery was supposed to prevent her from seeing by what individuals she was consulted, and the intended or accidental reference which the answer given under such circumstances bore to the situation of the person by whom the question was asked, often furnished food for laughter, and sometimes, as it happened, for more serious reflection. The sibyl was usually chosen from her possessing the talent of improvisation in the Norse poetry; no unusual accomplishment, where the minds of many were stored with old verses, and where the rules of metrical composition are uncommonly simple. The questions were also put in verse; but as this power of extemporaneous composition, though common, could not be supposed universal, the medium of an interpreter might be used by any querist, which interpreter, holding the consulter of the oracle by the hand, and standing by the place from which the oracles were issued, had the task of rendering into verse the subject of enquiry. On the present occasion, Claud Halcro was summoned, by the universal voice, to perform the part of interpreter; and, after shaking his head, and muttering some apology for decay of memory and poetical powers, contradicted at once by his own conscious smile of confidence and by the general shout of the company, the lighthearted old man came forward to play his part in the proposed entertainment. But just as it was about to commence, the arrangement of parts was singularly altered. Norna of the Fitful-head, whom every one excepting the two sisters believed to be at the distance of many miles, suddenly, and without greeting, entered the apartment, walked majestically up to the bearskin tabernacle, and signed to the female who was there seated to abdicate her sanctuary. The old woman came forth, shaking her head, and looking like one overwhelmed with fear; nor, indeed, were there many in the company who saw with absolute composure the sudden appearance of a person, so well known and so generally dreaded as Norna. She paused a moment at the entrance of the tent; and, as she raised the skin which formed the entrance, she looked up to the north, as if imploring from that quarter a strain of inspiration; then signing to the surprised guests that they might approach in succession the shrine in which she was about to install herself, she entered the tent, and was shrouded from their sight. But this was a different sport from what the company had meditated, and to most of them seemed to present so much more of earnest than of game, that there was no alacrity shown to consult the oracle. The character and pretensions of Norna seemed, to almost all present, too serious for the part which she had assumed; the men whispered to each other, and the women, according to Claud Halcro, realized the description of glorious John Dryden,-- "With horror shuddering, in a heap they ran." The pause was interrupted by the loud manly voice of the Udaller. "Why does the game stand still, my masters? Are you afraid because my kinswoman is to play our voluspa? It is kindly done in her, to do for us what none in the isles can do so well; and we will not baulk our sport for it, but rather go on the merrier." There was still a pause in the company, and Magnus Troil added, "It shall never be said that my kinswoman sat in her bower unhalsed, as if she were some of the old mountain-giantesses, and all from faint heart. I will speak first myself; but the rhyme comes worse from my tongue than when I was a score of years younger.--Claud Halcro, you must stand by me." Hand in hand they approached the shrine of the supposed sibyl, and after a moment's consultation together, Halcro thus expressed the query of his friend and patron. Now, the Udaller, like many persons of consequence in Zetland, who, as Sir Robert Sibbald has testified for them, had begun thus early to apply both to commerce and navigation, was concerned to some extent in the whale-fishery of the season, and the bard had been directed to put into his halting verse an enquiry concerning its success. CLAUD HALCRO. "Mother darksome, Mother dread-- Dweller on the Fitful-head, Thou canst see what deeds are done Under the never-setting sun. Look through sleet, and look through frost, Look to Greenland's caves and coast,-- By the iceberg is a sail Chasing of the swarthy whale; Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Tell us, has the good ship sped?" The jest seemed to turn to earnest, as all, bending their heads around, listened to the voice of Norna, who, without a moment's hesitation, answered from the recesses of the tent in which she was enclosed:-- NORNA. "The thought of the aged is ever on gear,-- On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer; But thrive may his fishing, flock, furrow, and herd, While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey beard." There was a momentary pause, during which Triptolemus had time to whisper, "If ten witches and as many warlocks were to swear it, I will never believe that a decent man will either fash his beard or himself about any thing, so long as stock and crop goes as it should do." But the voice from within the tent resumed its low monotonous tone of recitation, and, interrupting farther commentary, proceeded as follows:-- NORNA. "The ship, well-laden as bark need be, Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea;-- The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, And gaily the garland[1] is fluttering aloft: Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast;[2] Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall,-- And three for Burgh-Westra, the choicest of all." "Now the powers above look down and protect us!" said Bryce Snailsfoot; "for it is mair than woman's wit that has spaed out that ferly. I saw them at North Ronaldshaw, that had seen the good bark, the Olave of Lerwick, that our worthy patron has such a great share in that she may be called his own in a manner, and they had broomed[3] the ship, and, as sure as there are stars in heaven, she answered them for seven fish, exact as Norna has telled us in her rhyme!" "Umph--seven fish exactly? and you heard it at North Ronaldshaw?" said Captain Cleveland, "and I suppose told it as a good piece of news when you came hither?" "It never crossed my tongue, Captain," answered the pedlar; "I have kend mony chapmen, travelling merchants, and such like, neglect their goods to carry clashes and clavers up and down, from one countryside to another; but that is no traffic of mine. I dinna believe I have mentioned the Olave's having made up her cargo to three folks since I crossed to Dunrossness." "But if one of those three had spoken the news over again, and it is two to one that such a thing happened, the old lady prophesies upon velvet." Such was the speech of Cleveland, addressed to Magnus Troil, and heard without any applause. The Udaller's respect for his country extended to its superstitions, and so did the interest which he took in his unfortunate kinswoman. If he never rendered a precise assent to her high supernatural pretensions, he was not at least desirous of hearing them disputed by others. "Norna," he said, "his cousin," (an emphasis on the word,) "held no communication with Bryce Snailsfoot, or his acquaintances. He did not pretend to explain how she came by her information; but he had always remarked that Scotsmen, and indeed strangers in general, when they came to Zetland, were ready to find reasons for things which remained sufficiently obscure to those whose ancestors had dwelt there for ages." Captain Cleveland took the hint, and bowed, without attempting to defend his own scepticism. "And now forward, my brave hearts," said the Udaller; "and may all have as good tidings as I have! Three whales cannot but yield--let me think how many hogsheads"---- There was an obvious reluctance on the part of the guests to be the next in consulting the oracle of the tent. "Gude news are welcome to some folks, if they came frae the deil himsell," said Mistress Baby Yellowley, addressing the Lady Glowrowrum,--for a similarity of disposition in some respects had made a sort of intimacy betwixt them--"but I think, my leddy, that this has ower mickle of rank witchcraft in it to have the countenance of douce Christian folks like you and me, my leddy." "There may be something in what you say, my dame," replied the good Lady Glowrowrum; "but we Hialtlanders are no just like other folks; and this woman, if she be a witch, being the Fowd's friend and near kinswoman, it will be ill taen if we haena our fortunes spaed like a' the rest of them; and sae my nieces may e'en step forward in their turn, and nae harm dune. They will hae time to repent, ye ken, in the course of nature, if there be ony thing wrang in it, Mistress Yellowley." While others remained under similar uncertainty and apprehension, Halcro, who saw by the knitting of the old Udaller's brows, and by a certain impatient shuffle of his right foot, like the motion of a man who with difficulty refrains from stamping, that his patience began to wax rather thin, gallantly declared, that he himself would, in his own person, and not as a procurator for others, put the next query to the Pythoness. He paused a minute--collected his rhymes, and thus addressed her: CLAUD HALCRO. "Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme, That lives upon the surge of time: Tell me, shall my lays be sung, Like Hacon's of the golden tongue, Long after Halcro's dead and gone? Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own One note to rival glorious John?" The voice of the sibyl immediately replied, from her sanctuary, NORNA. "The infant loves the rattle's noise; Age, double childhood, hath its toys; But different far the descant rings, As strikes a different hand the strings. The Eagle mounts the polar sky-- The Imber-goose, unskill'd to fly, Must be content to glide along, Where seal and sea-dog list his song." Halcro bit his lip, shrugged his shoulders, and then, instantly recovering his good-humour, and the ready, though slovenly power of extemporaneous composition, with which long habit had invested him, he gallantly rejoined, CLAUD HALCRO. "Be mine the Imber-goose to play, And haunt lone cave and silent bay:-- The archer's aim so shall I shun-- So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun-- Content my verse's tuneless jingle, With Thule's sounding tides to mingle, While, to the ear of wandering wight, Upon the distant headland's height, Soften'd by murmur of the sea, The rude sounds seem like harmony!" As the little bard stepped back, with an alert gait, and satisfied air, general applause followed the spirited manner in which he had acquiesced in the doom which levelled him with an Imber-goose. But his resigned and courageous submission did not even yet encourage any other person to consult the redoubted Norna. "The coward fools!" said the Udaller. "Are you too afraid, Captain Cleveland, to speak to an old woman?--Ask her any thing--ask her whether the twelve-gun sloop at Kirkwall be your consort or no." Cleveland looked at Minna, and probably conceiving that she watched with anxiety his answer to her father's question, he collected himself, after a moment's hesitation. "I never was afraid of man or woman.--Master Halcro, you have heard the question which our host desires me to ask--put it in my name, and in your own way--I pretend to as little skill in poetry as I do in witchcraft." Halcro did not wait to be invited twice, but, grasping Captain Cleveland's hand in his, according to the form which the game prescribed, he put the query which the Udaller had dictated to the stranger, in the following words:-- CLAUD HALCRO. "Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, A gallant bark from far abroad, Saint Magnus hath her in his road, With guns and firelocks not a few-- A silken and a scarlet crew, Deep stored with precious merchandise, Of gold, and goods of rare device-- What interest hath our comrade bold In bark and crew, in goods and gold?" There was a pause of unusual duration ere the oracle would return any answer; and when she replied, it was in a lower, though an equally decided tone, with that which she had hitherto employed:-- NORNA. "Gold is ruddy, fair, and free, Blood is crimson, and dark to see;-- I look'd out on Saint Magnus Bay, And I saw a falcon that struck her prey,-- A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore, And talons and singles are dripping with gore; Let him that asks after them look on his hand, And if there is blood on't, he's one of their band." Cleveland smiled scornfully, and held out his hand,--"Few men have been on the Spanish main as often as I have, without having had to do with the _Guarda Costas_ once and again; but there never was aught like a stain on my hand that a wet towel would not wipe away." The Udaller added his voice potential--"There is never peace with Spaniards beyond the Line,--I have heard Captain Tragendeck and honest old Commodore Rummelaer say so an hundred times, and they have both been down in the Bay of Honduras, and all thereabouts.--I hate all Spaniards, since they came here and reft the Fair Isle men of their vivers in 1558.[4] I have heard my grandfather speak of it; and there is an old Dutch history somewhere about the house, that shows what work they made in the Low Countries long since. There is neither mercy nor faith in them." "True--true, my old friend," said Cleveland; "they are as jealous of their Indian possessions as an old man of his young bride; and if they can catch you at disadvantage, the mines for your life is the word,--and so we fight them with our colours nailed to the mast." "That is the way," shouted the Udaller; "the old British jack should never down! When I think of the wooden walls, I almost think myself an Englishman, only it would be becoming too like my Scottish neighbours;--but come, no offence to any here, gentlemen--all are friends, and all are welcome.--Come, Brenda, go on with the play--do you speak next, you have Norse rhymes enough, we all know." "But none that suit the game we play at, father," said Brenda, drawing back. "Nonsense!" said her father, pushing her onward, while Halcro seized on her reluctant hand; "never let mistimed modesty mar honest mirth--Speak for Brenda, Halcro--it is your trade to interpret maidens' thoughts." The poet bowed to the beautiful young woman, with the devotion of a poet and the gallantry of a traveller, and having, in a whisper, reminded her that she was in no way responsible for the nonsense he was about to speak, he paused, looked upward, simpered as if he had caught a sudden idea, and at length set off in the following verses: CLAUD HALCRO. "Mother doubtful, Mother dread-- Dweller of the Fitful-head, Well thou know'st it is thy task To tell what beauty will not ask;-- Then steep thy words in wine and milk, And weave a doom of gold and silk,-- For we would know, shall Brenda prove In love, and happy in her love?" The prophetess replied almost immediately from behind her curtain:-- NORNA. "Untouched by love, the maiden's breast Is like the snow on Rona's crest, High seated in the middle sky, In bright and barren purity; But by the sunbeam gently kiss'd, Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss'd, Ere down the lonely valley stealing, Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, It cheers the flock, revives the flower, And decks some happy shepherd's bower." "A comfortable doctrine, and most justly spoken," said the Udaller, seizing the blushing Brenda, as she was endeavouring to escape--"Never think shame for the matter, my girl. To be the mistress of some honest man's house, and the means of maintaining some old Norse name, making neighbours happy, the poor easy, and relieving strangers, is the most creditable lot a young woman can look to, and I heartily wish it to all here.--Come, who speaks next?--good husbands are going--Maddie Groatsettar--my pretty Clara, come and have your share." The Lady Glowrowrum shook her head, and "could not," she said, "altogether approve"---- "Enough said--enough said," replied Magnus; "no compulsion; but the play shall go on till we are tired of it. Here, Minna--I have got you at command. Stand forth, my girl--there are plenty of things to be ashamed of besides old-fashioned and innocent pleasantry.--Come, I will speak for you myself--though I am not sure I can remember rhyme enough for it." There was a slight colour which passed rapidly over Minna's face, but she instantly regained her composure, and stood erect by her father, as one superior to any little jest to which her situation might give rise. Her father, after some rubbing of his brow, and other mechanical efforts to assist his memory, at length recovered verse sufficient to put the following query, though in less gallant strains than those of Halcro:-- MAGNUS TROIL. "Mother, speak, and do not tarry, Here's a maiden fain would marry. Shall she marry, ay or not? If she marry, what's her lot?" A deep sigh was uttered within the tabernacle of the soothsayer, as if she compassionated the subject of the doom which she was obliged to pronounce. She then, as usual, returned her response:-- NORNA. "Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast Is like the snow on Rona's crest; So pure, so free from earthly dye, It seems, whilst leaning on the sky, Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh; But passion, like the wild March rain, May soil the wreath with many a stain. We gaze--the lovely vision's gone-- A torrent fills the bed of stone, That, hurrying to destruction's shock, Leaps headlong from the lofty rock." The Udaller heard this reply with high resentment. "By the bones of the Martyr," he said, his bold visage becoming suddenly ruddy, "this is an abuse of courtesy! and, were it any but yourself that had classed my daughter's name and the word destruction together, they had better have left the word unspoken. But come forth of the tent, thou old galdragon,"[5] he added, with a smile--"I should have known that thou canst not long joy in any thing that smacks of mirth, God help thee!" His summons received no answer; and, after waiting a moment, he again addressed her--"Nay, never be sullen with me, kinswoman, though I did speak a hasty word--thou knowest I bear malice to no one, least of all to thee--so come forth, and let us shake hands.--Thou mightst have foretold the wreck of my ship and boats, or a bad herring-fishery, and I should have said never a word; but Minna or Brenda, you know, are things which touch me nearer. But come out, shake hands, and there let there be an end on't." Norna returned no answer whatever to his repeated invocations, and the company began to look upon each other with some surprise, when the Udaller, raising the skin which covered the entrance of the tent, discovered that the interior was empty. The wonder was now general, and not unmixed with fear; for it seemed impossible that Norna could have, in any manner, escaped from the tabernacle in which she was enclosed, without having been discovered by the company. Gone, however, she was, and the Udaller, after a moment's consideration, dropt the skin-curtain again over the entrance of the tent. "My friends," he said, with a cheerful countenance, "we have long known my kinswoman, and that her ways are not like those of the ordinary folks of this world. But she means well by Hialtland, and hath the love of a sister for me, and for my house; and no guest of mine needs either to fear evil, or to take offence, at her hand. I have little doubt she will be with us at dinner-time." "Now, Heaven forbid!" said Mrs. Baby Yellowley--"for, my gude Leddy Glowrowrum, to tell your leddyship the truth, I likena cummers that can come and gae like a glance of the sun, or the whisk of a whirlwind." "Speak lower, speak lower," said the Lady Glowrowrum, "and be thankful that yon carlin hasna ta'en the house-side away wi' her. The like of her have played warse pranks, and so has she hersell, unless she is the sairer lied on." Similar murmurs ran through the rest of the company, until the Udaller uplifted his stentorian and imperative voice to put them to silence, and invited, or rather commanded, the attendance of his guests to behold the boats set off for the _haaf_ or deep-sea fishing. "The wind has been high since sunrise," he said, "and had kept the boats in the bay; but now it was favourable, and they would sail immediately." This sudden alteration of the weather occasioned sundry nods and winks amongst the guests, who were not indisposed to connect it with Norna's sudden disappearance; but without giving vent to observations which could not but be disagreeable to their host, they followed his stately step to the shore, as the herd of deer follows the leading stag, with all manner of respectful observance.[6](_a_)[7] FOOTNOTES: [1] The garland is an artificial coronet, composed of ribbons by those young women who take an interest in a whaling vessel or her crew: it is always displayed from the rigging, and preserved with great care during the voyage. [2] The best oil exudes from the jaw-bones of the whale, which, for the purpose of collecting it, are suspended to the masts of the vessel. [3] There is established among whalers a sort of telegraphic signal, in which a certain number of motions, made with a broom, express to any other vessel the number of fish which they have caught. [4] The Admiral of the Spanish Armada was wrecked on the Fair Isle, half-way betwixt the Orkney and Zetland Archipelago. The Duke of Medina Sidonia landed, with some of his people, and pillaged the islanders of their winter stores. These strangers are remembered as having remained on the island by force, and on bad terms with the inhabitants, till spring returned, when they effected their escape. [5] _Galdra-Kinna_--the Norse for a sorceress. [6] Note I.--Fortune-telling Rhymes. [7] See Editor's Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a similar reference occurs, the reader will understand that the same direction applies. CHAPTER II. There was a laughing devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled--and Mercy sigh'd farewell. _The Corsair, Canto I._ The ling or white fishery is the principal employment of the natives of Zetland, and was formerly that upon which the gentry chiefly depended for their income, and the poor for their subsistence. The fishing season is therefore, like the harvest of an agricultural country, the busiest and most important, as well as the most animating, period of the year. The fishermen of each district assemble at particular stations, with their boats and crews, and erect upon the shore small huts, composed of shingle and covered with turf, for their temporary lodging, and skeos, or drying-houses, for the fish; so that the lonely beach at once assumes the appearance of an Indian town. The banks to which they repair for the Haaf fishing, are often many miles distant from the station where the fish is dried; so that they are always twenty or thirty hours absent, frequently longer; and under unfavourable circumstances of wind and tide, they remain at sea, with a very small stock of provisions, and in a boat of a construction which seems extremely slender, for two or three days, and are sometimes heard of no more. The departure of the fishers, therefore, on this occupation, has in it a character of danger and of suffering, which renders it dignified, and the anxiety of the females who remain on the beach, watching the departure of the lessening boat, or anxiously looking out for its return, gives pathos to the scene.[8] The scene, therefore, was in busy and anxious animation, when the Udaller and his friends appeared on the beach. The various crews of about thirty boats, amounting each to from three to five or six men, were taking leave of their wives and female relatives, and jumping on board their long Norway skiffs, where their lines and tackle lay ready stowed. Magnus was not an idle spectator of the scene; he went from one place to another, enquiring into the state of their provisions for the voyage, and their preparations for the fishing--now and then, with a rough Dutch or Norse oath, abusing them for blockheads, for going to sea with their boats indifferently found, but always ending by ordering from his own stores a gallon of gin, a lispund of meal, or some similar essential addition to their sea-stores. The hardy sailors, on receiving such favours, expressed their thanks in the brief gruff manner which their landlord best approved; but the women were more clamorous in their gratitude, which Magnus was often obliged to silence by cursing all female tongues from Eve's downwards. At length all were on board and ready, the sails were hoisted, the signal for departure given, the rowers began to pull, and all started from the shore, in strong emulation to get first to the fishing ground, and to have their lines set before the rest; an exploit to which no little consequence was attached by the boat's crew who should be happy enough to perform it. While they were yet within hearing of the shore, they chanted an ancient Norse ditty, appropriate to the occasion, of which Claud Halcro had executed the following literal translation:-- "Farewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh, For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the Haaf; And we must have labour, and hunger, and pain, Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again. "For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal, We must dance on the waves, with the porpoise and seal; The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high, And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by. "Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee, By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the sea; And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line, Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine. "We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing when we haul, For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all: There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle, And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earl. "Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf, We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh; For life without mirth is a lamp without oil; Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil!" The rude words of the song were soon drowned in the ripple of the waves, but the tune continued long to mingle with the sound of wind and sea, and the boats were like so many black specks on the surface of the ocean, diminishing by degrees as they bore far and farther seaward; while the ear could distinguish touches of the human voice, almost drowned amid that of the elements. The fishermen's wives looked their last after the parting sails, and were now departing slowly, with downcast and anxious looks, towards the huts in which they were to make arrangements for preparing and drying the fish, with which they hoped to see their husbands and friends return deeply laden. Here and there an old sibyl displayed the superior importance of her experience, by predicting, from the appearance of the atmosphere, that the wind would be fair or foul, while others recommended a vow to the Kirk of St. Ninian's for the safety of their men and boats, (an ancient Catholic superstition, not yet wholly abolished,) and others, but in a low and timorous tone, regretted to their companions, that Norna of Fitful-head had been suffered to depart in discontent that morning from Burgh-Westra, "and, of all days in the year, that they suld have contrived to give her displeasure on the first day of the white fishing!" The gentry, guests of Magnus Troil, having whiled away as much time as could be so disposed of, in viewing the little armament set sail, and in conversing with the poor women who had seen their friends embark in it, began now to separate into various groups and parties, which strolled in different directions, as fancy led them, to enjoy what may be called the clair-obscure of a Zetland summer day, which, though without the brilliant sunshine that cheers other countries during the fine season, has a mild and pleasing character of its own, that softens while it saddens landscapes, which, in their own lonely, bare, and monotonous tone, have something in them stern as well as barren. In one of the loneliest recesses of the coast, where a deep indenture of the rocks gave the tide access to the cavern, or, as it is called, the _Helyer_, of Swartaster, Minna Troil was walking with Captain Cleveland. They had probably chosen that walk, as being little liable to interruption from others; for, as the force of the tide rendered the place unfit either for fishing or sailing, so it was not the ordinary resort of walkers, on account of its being the supposed habitation of a Mermaid, a race which Norwegian superstition invests with magical, as well as mischievous qualities. Here, therefore, Minna wandered with her lover. A small spot of milk-white sand, that stretched beneath one of the precipices which walled in the creek on either side, afforded them space for a dry, firm, and pleasant walk of about an hundred yards, terminated at one extremity by a dark stretch of the bay, which, scarce touched by the wind, seemed almost as smooth as glass, and which was seen from between two lofty rocks, the jaws of the creek, or indenture, that approached each other above, as if they wished to meet over the dark tide that separated them. The other end of their promenade was closed by a lofty and almost unscaleable precipice, the abode of hundreds of sea-fowl of different kinds, in the bottom of which the huge helyer, or sea-cave, itself yawned, as if for the purpose of swallowing up the advancing tide, which it seemed to receive into an abyss of immeasurable depth and extent. The entrance to this dismal cavern consisted not in a single arch, as usual, but was divided into two, by a huge pillar of natural rock, which, rising out of the sea, and extending to the top of the cavern, seemed to lend its support to the roof, and thus formed a double portal to the helyer, on which the fishermen and peasants had bestowed the rude name of the Devil's Nostrils. In this wild scene, lonely and undisturbed but by the clang of the sea-fowl, Cleveland had already met with Minna Troil more than once; for with her it was a favourite walk, as the objects which it presented agreed peculiarly with the love of the wild, the melancholy, and the wonderful. But now the conversation in which she was earnestly engaged, was such as entirely to withdraw her attention, as well as that of her companion, from the scenery around them. "You cannot deny it," she said; "you have given way to feelings respecting this young man, which indicate prejudice and violence,--the prejudice unmerited, as far as you are concerned at least, and the violence equally imprudent and unjustifiable." "I should have thought," replied Cleveland, "that the service I rendered him yesterday might have freed me from such a charge. I do not talk of my own risk, for I have lived in danger, and love it; it is not every one, however, would have ventured so near the furious animal to save one with whom they had no connexion." "It is not every one, indeed, who could have saved him," answered Minna, gravely; "but every one who has courage and generosity would have attempted it. The giddy-brained Claud Halcro would have done as much as you, had his strength been equal to his courage,--my father would have done as much, though having such just cause of resentment against the young man, for his vain and braggart abuse of our hospitality. Do not, therefore, boast of your exploit too much, my good friend, lest you should make me think that it required too great an effort. I know you love not Mordaunt Mertoun, though you exposed your own life to save his." "Will you allow nothing, then," said Cleveland, "for the long misery I was made to endure from the common and prevailing report, that this beardless bird-hunter stood betwixt me and what I on earth coveted most--the affections of Minna Troil?" He spoke in a tone at once impassioned and insinuating, and his whole language and manner seemed to express a grace and elegance, which formed the most striking contrast with the speech and gesture of the unpolished seaman, which he usually affected or exhibited. But his apology was unsatisfactory to Minna. "You have known," she said, "perhaps too soon, and too well, how little you had to fear,--if you indeed feared,--that Mertoun, or any other, had interest with Minna Troil.--Nay, truce to thanks and protestations; I would accept it as the best proof of gratitude, that you would be reconciled with this youth, or at least avoid every quarrel with him." "That we should be friends, Minna, is impossible," replied Cleveland; "even the love I bear you, the most powerful emotion that my heart ever knew, cannot work that miracle." "And why, I pray you?" said Minna; "there have been no evil offences between you, but rather an exchange of mutual services; why can you not be friends?--I have many reasons to wish it." "And can you, then, forget the slights which he has cast upon Brenda, and on yourself, and on your father's house?" "I can forgive them all," said Minna;--"can you not say so much, who have in truth received no offence?" Cleveland looked down, and paused for an instant; then raised his head, and replied, "I might easily deceive you, Minna, and promise you what my soul tells me is an impossibility; but I am forced to use too much deceit with others, and with you I will use none. I cannot be friend to this young man;--there is a natural dislike--an instinctive aversion--something like a principle of repulsion in our mutual nature, which makes us odious to each other. Ask himself--he will tell you he has the same antipathy against me. The obligation he conferred on me was a bridle to my resentment; but I was so galled by the restraint, that I could have gnawed the curb till my lips were bloody." "You have worn what you are wont to call your iron mask so long, that your features," replied Minna, "retain the impression of its rigidity even when it is removed." "You do me injustice, Minna," replied her lover, "and you are angry with me because I deal with you plainly and honestly. Plainly and honestly, however, will I say, that I cannot be Mertoun's friend, but it shall be his own fault, not mine, if I am ever his enemy. I seek not to injure him; but do not ask me to love him. And of this remain satisfied, that it would be vain even if I could do so; for as sure as I attempted any advances towards his confidence, so sure would I be to awaken his disgust and suspicion. Leave us to the exercise of our natural feelings, which, as they will unquestionably keep us as far separate as possible, are most likely to prevent any possible interference with each other.--Does this satisfy you?" "It must," said Minna, "since you tell me there is no remedy.--And now tell me why you looked so grave when you heard of your consort's arrival,--for that it is her I have no doubt,--in the port of Kirkwall?" "I fear," replied Cleveland, "the consequences of that vessel's arrival with her crew, as comprehending the ruin of my fondest hopes. I had made some progress in your father's favour, and, with time, might have made more, when hither come Hawkins and the rest to blight my prospects for ever. I told you on what terms we parted. I then commanded a vessel braver and better found than their own, with a crew who, at my slightest nod, would have faced fiends armed with their own fiery element; but I now stand alone, a single man, destitute of all means to overawe or to restrain them; and they will soon show so plainly the ungovernable license of their habits and dispositions, that ruin to themselves and to me will in all probability be the consequence." "Do not fear it," said Minna; "my father can never be so unjust as to hold you liable for the offences of others." "But what will Magnus Troil say to my own demerits, fair Minna?" said Cleveland, smiling. "My father is a Zetlander, or rather a Norwegian," said Minna, "one of an oppressed race, who will not care whether you fought against the Spaniards, who are the tyrants of the New World, or against the Dutch and English, who have succeeded to their usurped dominions. His own ancestors supported and exercised the freedom of the seas in those gallant barks, whose pennons were the dread of all Europe." "I fear, nevertheless," said Cleveland, "that the descendant of an ancient Sea-King will scarce acknowledge a fitting acquaintance in a modern rover. I have not disguised from you that I have reason to dread the English laws; and Magnus, though a great enemy to taxes, imposts, scat, wattle, and so forth, has no idea of latitude upon points of a more general character;--he would willingly reeve a rope to the yard-arm for the benefit of an unfortunate buccanier." "Do not suppose so," said Minna; "he himself suffers too much oppression from the tyrannical laws of our proud neighbours of Scotland. I trust he will soon be able to rise in resistance against them. The enemy--such I will call them--are now divided amongst themselves, and every vessel from their coast brings intelligence of fresh commotions--the Highlands against the Lowlands--the Williamites against the Jacobites--the Whigs against the Tories, and, to sum the whole, the kingdom of England against that of Scotland. What is there, as Claud Halcro well hinted, to prevent our availing ourselves of the quarrels of these robbers, to assert the independence of which we are deprived?" "To hoist the raven standard on the Castle of Scalloway," said Cleveland, in imitation of her tone and manner, "and proclaim your father Earl Magnus the First!" "Earl Magnus the Seventh, if it please you," answered Minna; "for six of his ancestors have worn, or were entitled to wear, the coronet before him.--You laugh at my ardour,--but what _is_ there to prevent all this?" "Nothing _will_ prevent it," replied Cleveland, "because it will never be attempted--Any thing _might_ prevent it, that is equal in strength to the long-boat of a British man-of-war." "You treat us with scorn, sir," said Minna; "yet yourself should know what a few resolved men may perform." "But they must be armed, Minna," replied Cleveland, "and willing to place their lives upon each desperate adventure.--Think not of such visions. Denmark has been cut down into a second-rate kingdom, incapable of exchanging a single broadside with England; Norway is a starving wilderness; and, in these islands, the love of independence has been suppressed by a long term of subjection, or shows itself but in a few muttered growls over the bowl and bottle. And, were your men as willing warriors as their ancestors, what could the unarmed crews of a few fishing-boats do against the British navy?--Think no more of it, sweet Minna--it is a dream, and I must term it so, though it makes your eye so bright, and your step so noble." "It is indeed a dream!" said Minna, looking down, "and it ill becomes a daughter of Hialtland to look or to move like a freewoman--Our eye should be on the ground, and our step slow and reluctant, as that of one who obeys a taskmaster." "There are lands," said Cleveland, "in which the eye may look bright upon groves of the palm and the cocoa, and where the foot may move light as a galley under sail, over fields carpeted with flowers, and savannahs surrounded by aromatic thickets, and where subjection is unknown, except that of the brave to the bravest, and of all to the most beautiful." Minna paused a moment ere she spoke, and then answered, "No, Cleveland. My own rude country has charms for me, even desolate as you think it, and depressed as it surely is, which no other land on earth can offer to me. I endeavour in vain to represent to myself those visions of trees, and of groves, which my eye never saw; but my imagination can conceive no sight in nature more sublime than these waves, when agitated by a storm, or more beautiful, than when they come, as they now do, rolling in calm tranquillity to the shore. Not the fairest scene in a foreign land,--not the brightest sunbeam that ever shone upon the richest landscape, would win my thoughts for a moment from that lofty rock, misty hill, and wide-rolling ocean. Hialtland is the land of my deceased ancestors, and of my living father; and in Hialtland will I live and die." "Then in Hialtland," answered Cleveland, "will I too live and die. I will not go to Kirkwall,--I will not make my existence known to my comrades, from whom it were else hard for me to escape. Your father loves me, Minna; who knows whether long attention, anxious care, might not bring him to receive me into his family? Who would regard the length of a voyage that was certain to terminate in happiness?" "Dream not of such an issue," said Minna; "it is impossible. While you live in my father's house,--while you receive his assistance, and share his table, you will find him the generous friend, and the hearty host; but touch him on what concerns his name and family, and the frank-hearted Udaller will start up before you the haughty and proud descendant of a Norwegian Jarl. See you,--a moment's suspicion has fallen on Mordaunt Mertoun, and he has banished from his favour the youth whom he so lately loved as a son. No one must ally with his house that is not of untainted northern descent." "And mine may be so, for aught that is known to me upon the subject," said Cleveland. "How!" said Minna; "have you any reason to believe yourself of Norse descent?" "I have told you before," replied Cleveland, "that my family is totally unknown to me. I spent my earliest days upon a solitary plantation in the little island of Tortuga, under the charge of my father, then a different person from what he afterwards became. We were plundered by the Spaniards, and reduced to such extremity of poverty, that my father, in desperation, and in thirst of revenge, took up arms, and having become chief of a little band, who were in the same circumstances, became a buccanier, as it is called, and cruized against Spain, with various vicissitudes of good and bad fortune, until, while he interfered to check some violence of his companions, he fell by their hands--no uncommon fate among the captains of these rovers. But whence my father came, or what was the place of his birth, I know not, fair Minna, nor have I ever had a curious thought on the subject." "He was a Briton, at least, your unfortunate father?" said Minna. "I have no doubt of it," said Cleveland; "his name, which I have rendered too formidable to be openly spoken, is an English one; and his acquaintance with the English language, and even with English literature, together with the pains which he took, in better days, to teach me both, plainly spoke him to be an Englishman. If the rude bearing which I display towards others is not the genuine character of my mind and manners, it is to my father, Minna, that I owe any share of better thoughts and principles, which may render me worthy, in some small degree, of your notice and approbation. And yet it sometimes seems to me, that I have two different characters; for I cannot bring myself to believe, that I, who now walk this lone beach with the lovely Minna Troil, and am permitted to speak to her of the passion which I have cherished, have ever been the daring leader of the bold band whose name was as terrible as a tornado." "You had not been permitted," said Minna, "to use that bold language towards the daughter of Magnus Troil, had you _not_ been the brave and undaunted leader, who, with so small means, has made his name so formidable. My heart is like that of a maiden of the ancient days, and is to be won, not by fair words, but by gallant deeds." "Alas! that heart," said Cleveland; "and what is it that I may do--what is it that man can do, to win in it the interest which I desire?" "Rejoin your friends--pursue your fortunes--leave the rest to destiny," said Minna. "Should you return, the leader of a gallant fleet, who can tell what may befall?" "And what shall assure me, that, when I return--if return I ever shall--I may not find Minna Troil a bride or a spouse?--No, Minna, I will not trust to destiny the only object worth attaining, which my stormy voyage in life has yet offered me." "Hear me," said Minna. "I will bind myself to you, if you dare accept such an engagement, by the promise of Odin,[9] the most sacred of our northern rites which are yet practised among us, that I will never favour another, until you resign the pretensions which I have given to you.--Will that satisfy you?--for more I cannot--more I will not give." "Then with that," said Cleveland, after a moment's pause, "I must perforce be satisfied;--but remember, it is yourself that throw me back upon a mode of life which the laws of Britain denounce as criminal, and which the violent passions of the daring men by whom it is pursued, have rendered infamous." "But I," said Minna, "am superior to such prejudices. In warring with England, I see their laws in no other light than as if you were engaged with an enemy, who, in fulness of pride and power, has declared he will give his antagonist no quarter. A brave man will not fight the worse for this;--and, for the manners of your comrades, so that they do not infect your own, why should their evil report attach to you?" Cleveland gazed at her as she spoke, with a degree of wondering admiration, in which, at the same time, there lurked a smile at her simplicity. "I could not," he said, "have believed, that such high courage could have been found united with such ignorance of the world, as the world is now wielded. For my manners, they who best know me will readily allow, that I have done my best, at the risk of my popularity, and of my life itself, to mitigate the ferocity of my mates; but how can you teach humanity to men burning with vengeance against the world by whom they are proscribed, or teach them temperance and moderation in enjoying the pleasures which chance throws in their way, to vary a life which would be otherwise one constant scene of peril and hardship?--But this promise, Minna--this promise, which is all I am to receive in guerdon for my faithful attachment--let me at least lose no time in claiming that." "It must not be rendered here, but in Kirkwall.--We must invoke, to witness the engagement, the Spirit which presides over the ancient Circle of Stennis. But perhaps you fear to name the ancient Father of the Slain too, the Severe, the Terrible?" Cleveland smiled. "Do me the justice to think, lovely Minna, that I am little subject to fear real causes of terror; and for those which are visionary, I have no sympathy whatever." "You believe not in them, then?" said Minna, "and are so far better suited to be Brenda's lover than mine." "I will believe," replied Cleveland, "in whatever you believe. The whole inhabitants of that Valhalla, about which you converse so much with that fiddling, rhyming fool, Claud Halcro--all these shall become living and existing things to my credulity. But, Minna, do not ask me to fear any of them." "Fear! no--not to _fear_ them, surely," replied the maiden; "for, not before Thor or Odin, when they approached in the fulness of their terrors, did the heroes of my dauntless race yield one foot in retreat. Nor do I own them as Deities--a better faith prevents so foul an error. But, in our own conception, they are powerful spirits for good or evil. And when you boast not to fear them, bethink you that you defy an enemy of a kind you have never yet encountered." "Not in these northern latitudes," said the lover, with a smile, "where hitherto I have seen but angels; but I have faced, in my time, the demons of the Equinoctial Line, which we rovers suppose to be as powerful, and as malignant, as those of the North." "Have you, then, witnessed those wonders that are beyond the visible world?" said Minna, with some degree of awe. Cleveland composed his countenance, and replied,--"A short while before my father's death, I came, though then very young, into the command of a sloop, manned with thirty as desperate fellows as ever handled a musket. We cruized for a long while with bad success, taking nothing but wretched small-craft, which were destined to catch turtle, or otherwise loaded with coarse and worthless trumpery. I had much ado to prevent my comrades from avenging upon the crews of those baubling shallops the disappointment which they had occasioned to us. At length, we grew desperate, and made a descent on a village, where we were told we should intercept the mules of a certain Spanish governor, laden with treasure. We succeeded in carrying the place; but while I endeavoured to save the inhabitants from the fury of my followers, the muleteers, with their precious cargo, escaped into the neighbouring woods. This filled up the measure of my unpopularity. My people, who had been long discontented, became openly mutinous. I was deposed from my command in solemn council, and condemned, as having too little luck and too much humanity for the profession I had undertaken, to be marooned,[10] as the phrase goes, on one of those little sandy, bushy islets, which are called, in the West Indies, keys, and which are frequented only by turtle and by sea-fowl. Many of them are supposed to be haunted(_b_)--some by the demons worshipped by the old inhabitants--some by Caciques and others, whom the Spaniards had put to death by torture, to compel them to discover their hidden treasures, and others by the various spectres in which sailors of all nations have implicit faith.[11] My place of banishment, called Coffin-key, about two leagues and a half to the south-east of Bermudas, was so infamous as the resort of these supernatural inhabitants, that I believe the wealth of Mexico would not have persuaded the bravest of the scoundrels who put me ashore there, to have spent an hour on the islet alone, even in broad daylight; and when they rowed off, they pulled for the sloop like men that dared not cast their eyes behind them. And there they left me, to subsist as I might, on a speck of unproductive sand, surrounded by the boundless Atlantic, and haunted, as they supposed, by malignant demons." "And what was the consequence?" said Minna, eagerly. "I supported life," said the adventurer, "at the expense of such sea-fowl, aptly called boobies, as were silly enough to let me approach so near as to knock them down with a stick; and by means of turtle-eggs, when these complaisant birds became better acquainted with the mischievous disposition of the human species, and more shy of course of my advances." "And the demons of whom you spoke?"--continued Minna. "I had my secret apprehensions upon their account," said Cleveland: "In open daylight, or in absolute darkness, I did not greatly apprehend their approach; but in the misty dawn of the morning, or when evening was about to fall, I saw, for the first week of my abode on the key, many a dim and undefined spectre, now resembling a Spaniard, with his capa wrapped around him, and his huge sombrero, as large as an umbrella, upon his head,--now a Dutch sailor, with his rough cap and trunk-hose,--and now an Indian Cacique, with his feathery crown and long lance of cane." "Did you not approach and address them?" said Minna. "I always approached them," replied the seaman; "but,--I grieve to disappoint your expectations, my fair friend,--whenever I drew near them, the phantom changed into a bush, or a piece of drift-wood, or a wreath of mist, or some such cause of deception, until at last I was taught by experience to cheat myself no longer with such visions, and continued a solitary inhabitant of Coffin-key, as little alarmed by visionary terrors, as I ever was in the great cabin of a stout vessel, with a score of companions around me." "You have cheated me into listening to a tale of nothing," said Minna; "but how long did you continue on the island?" "Four weeks of wretched existence," said Cleveland, "when I was relieved by the crew of a vessel which came thither a-turtling. Yet my miserable seclusion was not entirely useless to me; for on that spot of barren sand I found, or rather forged, the iron mask, which has since been my chief security against treason, or mutiny of my followers. It was there I formed the resolution to seem no softer hearted, nor better instructed--no more humane, and no more scrupulous, than those with whom fortune had leagued me. I thought over my former story, and saw that seeming more brave, skilful, and enterprising than others, had gained me command and respect, and that seeming more gently nurtured, and more civilized than they, had made them envy and hate me as a being of another species. I bargained with myself, then, that since I could not lay aside my superiority of intellect and education, I would do my best to disguise, and to sink in the rude seaman, all appearance of better feeling and better accomplishments. I foresaw then what has since happened, that, under the appearance of daring obduracy, I should acquire such a habitual command over my followers, that I might use it for the insurance of discipline, and for relieving the distresses of the wretches who fell under our power. I saw, in short, that to attain authority, I must assume the external semblance, at least, of those over whom it was to be exercised. The tidings of my father's fate, while it excited me to wrath and to revenge, confirmed the resolution I had adopted. He also had fallen a victim to his superiority of mind, morals, and manners, above those whom he commanded. They were wont to call him the Gentleman; and, unquestionably, they thought he waited some favourable opportunity to reconcile himself, perhaps at their expense, to those existing forms of society his habits seemed best to suit with, and, even therefore, they murdered him. Nature and justice alike called on me for revenge. I was soon at the head of a new body of the adventurers, who are so numerous in those islands. I sought not after those by whom I had been myself marooned, but after the wretches who had betrayed my father; and on them I took a revenge so severe, that it was of itself sufficient to stamp me with the character of that inexorable ferocity which I was desirous to be thought to possess, and which, perhaps, was gradually creeping on my natural disposition in actual earnest. My manner, speech, and conduct, seemed so totally changed, that those who formerly knew me were disposed to ascribe the alteration to my intercourse with the demons who haunted the sands of Coffin-key; nay, there were some superstitious enough to believe, that I had actually formed a league with them." "I tremble to hear the rest!" said Minna; "did you not become the monster of courage and cruelty whose character you assumed?" "If I have escaped being so, it is to you, Minna," replied Cleveland, "that the wonder must be ascribed. It is true, I have always endeavoured to distinguish myself rather by acts of adventurous valour, than by schemes of revenge or of plunder, and that at length I could save lives by a rude jest, and sometimes, by the excess of the measures which I myself proposed, could induce those under me to intercede in favour of prisoners; so that the seeming severity of my character has better served the cause of humanity, than had I appeared directly devoted to it." He ceased, and, as Minna replied not a word, both remained silent for a little space, when Cleveland again resumed the discourse:-- "You are silent," he said, "Miss Troil, and I have injured myself in your opinion by the frankness with which I have laid my character before you. I may truly say that my natural disposition has been controlled, but not altered, by the untoward circumstances in which I am placed." "I am uncertain," said Minna, after a moment's consideration, "whether you had been thus candid, had you not known I should soon see your comrades, and discover, from their conversation and their manners, what you would otherwise gladly have concealed." "You do me injustice, Minna, cruel injustice. From the instant that you knew me to be a sailor of fortune, an adventurer, a buccanier, or, if you will have the broad word, a PIRATE, what had you to expect less than what I have told you?" "You speak too truly," said Minna--"all this I might have anticipated, and I know not how I should have expected it otherwise. But it seemed to me that a war on the cruel and superstitious Spaniards had in it something ennobling--something that refined the fierce employment to which you have just now given its true and dreaded name. I thought that the independent warriors of the Western Ocean, raised up, as it were, to punish the wrongs of so many murdered and plundered tribes must have had something of gallant elevation, like that of the Sons of the North, whose long galleys avenged on so many coasts the oppressions of degenerate Rome. This I thought, and this I dreamed--I grieve that I am awakened and undeceived. Yet I blame you not for the erring of my own fancy.--Farewell; we must now part." "Say at least," said Cleveland, "that you do not hold me in horror for having told you the truth." "I must have time for reflection," said Minna, "time to weigh what you have said, ere I can fully understand my own feelings. Thus much, however, I can say even now, that he who pursues the wicked purpose of plunder, by means of blood and cruelty, and who must veil his remains of natural remorse under an affectation of superior profligacy, is not, and cannot be, the lover whom Minna Troil expected to find in Cleveland; and if she still love him, it must be as a penitent, and not as a hero." So saying, she extricated herself from his grasp, (for he still endeavoured to detain her,) making an imperative sign to him to forbear from following her.--"She is gone," said Cleveland, looking after her; "wild and fanciful as she is, I expected not this.--She startled not at the name of my perilous course of life, yet seems totally unprepared for the evil which must necessarily attend it; and so all the merit I have gained by my resemblance to a Norse Champion, or King of the Sea, is to be lost at once, because a gang of pirates do not prove to be a choir of saints. I would that Rackam, Hawkins, and the rest, had been at the bottom of the Race of Portland--I would the Pentland Frith had swept them to hell rather than to Orkney! I will not, however, quit the chase of this angel for all that these fiends can do. I will--I must to Orkney before the Udaller makes his voyage thither--our meeting might alarm even his blunt understanding, although, thank Heaven, in this wild country, men know the nature of our trade only by hearsay, through our honest friends the Dutch, who take care never to speak very ill of those they make money by.--Well, if fortune would but stand my friend with this beautiful enthusiast, I would pursue her wheel no farther at sea, but set myself down amongst these rocks, as happy as if they were so many groves of bananas and palmettoes." With these, and such thoughts, half rolling in his bosom, half expressed in indistinct hints and murmurs, the pirate Cleveland returned to the mansion of Burgh-Westra. FOOTNOTES: [8] Dr. Edmonston, the ingenious author of a View of the Ancient and Present State of the Zetland Islands, has placed this part of the subject in an interesting light. "It is truly painful to witness the anxiety and distress which the wives of these poor men suffer on the approach of a storm. Regardless of fatigue, they leave their homes, and fly to the spot where they expect their husbands to land, or ascend the summit of a rock, to look out for them on the bosom of the deep. Should they get the glimpse of a sail, they watch, with trembling solicitude, its alternate rise and disappearance on the waves; and though often tranquillized by the safe arrival of the objects of their search, yet it sometimes is their lot 'to hail the bark that never can return.' Subject to the influence of a variable climate, and engaged on a sea naturally tempestuous, with rapid currents, scarcely a season passes over without the occurrence of some fatal accident or hairbreadth escape."--_View, &c. of the Zetland Islands_, vol. i. p. 238. Many interesting particulars respecting the fisheries and agriculture of Zetland, as well as its antiquities, may be found in the work we have quoted. [9] Note II.--Promise of Odin. [10] To _maroon_ a seaman, signified to abandon him on a desolate coast or island--a piece of cruelty often practised by Pirates and Buccaniers. [11] An elder brother, now no more, who was educated in the navy, and had been a midshipman in Rodney's squadron in the West Indies, used to astonish the author's boyhood with tales of those haunted islets. On one of them, called, I believe, Coffin-key, the seamen positively refused to pass the night, and came off every evening while they were engaged in completing the watering of the vessel, returning the following sunrise. CHAPTER III. There was shaking of hands, and sorrow of heart, For the hour was approaching when merry folks must part; So we call'd for our horses, and ask'd for our way, While the jolly old landlord said, "Nothing's to pay." _Lilliput, a Poem._ We do not dwell upon the festivities of the day, which had nothing in them to interest the reader particularly. The table groaned under the usual plenty, which was disposed of by the guests with the usual appetite--the bowl of punch was filled and emptied with the same celerity as usual--the men quaffed, and the women laughed--Claud Halcro rhymed, punned, and praised John Dryden--the Udaller bumpered and sung choruses--and the evening concluded, as usual, in the Rigging-loft, as it was Magnus Troil's pleasure to term the dancing apartment. It was then and there that Cleveland, approaching Magnus, where he sat betwixt his two daughters, intimated his intention of going to Kirkwall in a small brig, which Bryce Snailsfoot, who had disposed of his goods with unprecedented celerity, had freighted thither, to procure a supply. Magnus heard the sudden proposal of his guest with surprise, not unmingled with displeasure, and demanded sharply of Cleveland, how long it was since he had learned to prefer Bryce Snailsfoot's company to his own? Cleveland answered, with his usual bluntness of manner, that time and tide tarried for no one, and that he had his own particular reasons for making his trip to Kirkwall sooner than the Udaller proposed to set sail--that he hoped to meet with him and his daughters at the great fair which was now closely approaching, and might perhaps find it possible to return to Zetland along with them. While he spoke this, Brenda kept her eye as much upon her sister as it was possible to do, without exciting general observation. She remarked, that Minna's pale cheek became yet paler while Cleveland spoke, and that she seemed, by compressing her lips, and slightly knitting her brows, to be in the act of repressing the effects of strong interior emotion. But she spoke not; and when Cleveland, having bidden adieu to the Udaller, approached to salute her, as was then the custom, she received his farewell without trusting herself to attempt a reply. Brenda had her own trial approaching; for Mordaunt Mertoun, once so much loved by her father, was now in the act of making his cold parting from him, without receiving a single look of friendly regard. There was, indeed, sarcasm in the tone with which Magnus wished the youth a good journey, and recommended to him, if he met a bonny lass by the way, not to dream that she was in love, because she chanced to jest with him. Mertoun coloured at what he felt as an insult, though it was but half intelligible to him; but he remembered Brenda, and suppressed every feeling of resentment. He proceeded to take his leave of the sisters. Minna, whose heart was considerably softened towards him, received his farewell with some degree of interest; but Brenda's grief was so visible in the kindness of her manner, and the moisture which gathered in her eye, that it was noticed even by the Udaller, who exclaimed, half angrily, "Why, ay, lass, that may be right enough, for he was an old acquaintance; but mind! I have no will that he remain one." Mertoun, who was slowly leaving the apartment, half overheard this disparaging observation, and half turned round to resent it. But his purpose failed him when he saw that Brenda had been obliged to have recourse to her handkerchief to hide her emotion, and the sense that it was excited by his departure, obliterated every thought of her father's unkindness. He retired--the other guests followed his example; and many of them, like Cleveland and himself, took their leave over-night, with the intention of commencing their homeward journey on the succeeding morning. That night, the mutual sorrow of Minna and Brenda, if it could not wholly remove the reserve which had estranged the sisters from each other, at least melted all its frozen and unkindly symptoms. They wept in each other's arms; and though neither spoke, yet each became dearer to the other; because they felt that the grief which called forth these drops, had a source common to them both. It is probable, that though Brenda's tears were most abundant, the grief of Minna was most deeply seated; for, long after the younger had sobbed herself asleep, like a child, upon her sister's bosom, Minna lay awake, watching the dubious twilight, while tear after tear slowly gathered in her eye, and found a current down her cheek, as soon as it became too heavy to be supported by her long black silken eyelashes. As she lay, bewildered among the sorrowful thoughts which supplied these tears, she was surprised to distinguish, beneath the window, the sounds of music. At first she supposed it was some freak of Claud Halcro, whose fantastic humour sometimes indulged itself in such serenades. But it was not the _gue_ of the old minstrel, but the guitar, that she heard; an instrument which none in the island knew how to touch except Cleveland, who had learned, in his intercourse with the South-American Spaniards, to play on it with superior execution. Perhaps it was in those climates also that he had learned the song, which, though he now sung it under the window of a maiden of Thule, had certainly never been composed for the native of a climate so northerly and so severe, since it spoke of productions of the earth and skies which are there unknown. 1. "Love wakes and weeps While Beauty sleeps: O for Music's softest numbers, To prompt a theme, For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers! 2. "Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm, Fire-flies on the air are wheeling; While through the gloom Comes soft perfume, The distant beds of flowers revealing. 3. "O wake and live, No dream can give A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling; No longer sleep, From lattice peep, And list the tale that Love is telling!" The voice of Cleveland was deep, rich, and manly, and accorded well with the Spanish air, to which the words, probably a translation from the same language, had been adapted. His invocation would not probably have been fruitless, could Minna have arisen without awaking her sister. But that was impossible; for Brenda, who, as we have already mentioned, had wept bitterly before she had sunk into repose, now lay with her face on her sister's neck, and one arm stretched around her, in the attitude of a child which has cried itself asleep in the arms of its nurse. It was impossible for Minna to extricate herself from her grasp without awaking her; and she could not, therefore, execute her hasty purpose, of donning her gown, and approaching the window to speak with Cleveland, who, she had no doubt, had resorted to this contrivance to procure an interview. The restraint was sufficiently provoking, for it was more than probable that her lover came to take his last farewell; but that Brenda, inimical as she seemed to be of late towards Cleveland, should awake and witness it, was a thought not to be endured. There was a short pause, in which Minna endeavoured more than once, with as much gentleness as possible, to unclasp Brenda's arm from her neck; but whenever she attempted it, the slumberer muttered some little pettish sound, like a child disturbed in its sleep, which sufficiently showed that perseverance in the attempt would awaken her fully. To her great vexation, therefore, Minna was compelled to remain still and silent; when her lover, as if determined upon gaining her ear by music of another strain, sung the following fragment of a sea-ditty:-- "Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear, Has left its last soft tone with you,-- Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew. "The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. "The timid eye I dared not raise,-- The hand that shook when press'd to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase,-- Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. "To all I love, or hope, or fear,-- Honour, or own, a long adieu! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you!"[12](_c_) He was again silent; and again she, to whom the serenade was addressed, strove in vain to arise without rousing her sister. It was impossible; and she had nothing before her but the unhappy thought that Cleveland was taking leave in his desolation, without a single glance, or a single word. He, too, whose temper was so fiery, yet who subjected his violent mood with such sedulous attention to her will--could she but have stolen a moment to say adieu--to caution him against new quarrels with Mertoun--to implore him to detach himself from such comrades as he had described--could she but have done this, who could say what effect such parting admonitions might have had upon his character--nay, upon the future events of his life? Tantalized by such thoughts, Minna was about to make another and decisive effort, when she heard voices beneath the window, and thought she could distinguish that they were those of Cleveland and Mertoun, speaking in a sharp tone, which, at the same time, seemed cautiously suppressed, as if the speakers feared being overheard. Alarm now mingled with her former desire to rise from bed, and she accomplished at once the purpose which she had so often attempted in vain. Brenda's arm was unloosed from her sister's neck, without the sleeper receiving more alarm than provoked two or three unintelligible murmurs; while, with equal speed and silence, Minna put on some part of her dress, with the intention to steal to the window. But, ere she could accomplish this, the sound of the voices without was exchanged for that of blows and struggling, which terminated suddenly by a deep groan. Terrified at this last signal of mischief, Minna sprung to the window, and endeavoured to open it, for the persons were so close under the walls of the house that she could not see them, save by putting her head out of the casement. The iron hasp was stiff and rusted, and, as generally happens, the haste with which she laboured to undo it only rendered the task more difficult. When it was accomplished, and Minna had eagerly thrust her body half out at the casement, those who had created the sounds which alarmed her were become invisible, excepting that she saw a shadow cross the moonlight, the substance of which must have been in the act of turning a corner, which concealed it from her sight. The shadow moved slowly, and seemed that of a man who supported another upon his shoulders; an indication which put the climax to Minna's agony of mind. The window was not above eight feet from the ground, and she hesitated not to throw herself from it hastily, and to pursue the object which had excited her terror. But when she came to the corner of the buildings from which the shadow seemed to have been projected, she discovered nothing which could point out the way that the figure had gone; and, after a moment's consideration, became sensible that all attempts at pursuit would be alike wild and fruitless. Besides all the projections and recesses of the many-angled mansion, and its numerous offices--besides the various cellars, store-houses, stables, and so forth, which defied her solitary search, there was a range of low rocks, stretching down to the haven, and which were, in fact, a continuation of the ridge which formed its pier. These rocks had many indentures, hollows, and caverns, into any one of which the figure to which the shadow belonged might have retired with his fatal burden; for fatal, she feared, it was most likely to prove. A moment's reflection, as we have said, convinced Minna of the folly of further pursuit. Her next thought was to alarm the family; but what tale had she to tell, and of whom was that tale to be told?--On the other hand, the wounded man--if indeed he were wounded--alas, if indeed he were not mortally wounded!--might not be past the reach of assistance; and, with this idea, she was about to raise her voice, when she was interrupted by that of Claud Halcro, who was returning apparently from the haven, and singing, in his manner, a scrap of an old Norse ditty, which might run thus in English:-- "And you shall deal the funeral dole; Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine. "And you shall deal my horses of pride; Ay, deal them, mother mine; And you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine. "But deal not vengeance for the deed, And deal not for the crime; The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, And the rest in God's own time." The singular adaptation of these rhymes to the situation in which she found herself, seemed to Minna like a warning from Heaven. We are speaking of a land of omens and superstitions, and perhaps will scarce be understood by those whose limited imagination cannot conceive how strongly these operate upon the human mind during a certain progress of society. A line of Virgil, turned up casually, was received in the seventeenth century, and in the court of England,[13] as an intimation of future events; and no wonder that a maiden of the distant and wild isles of Zetland should have considered as an injunction from Heaven, verses which happened to convey a sense analogous to her present situation. "I will be silent," she muttered,--"I will seal my lips-- 'The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, And the rest in God's own time.'" "Who speaks there?" said Claud Halcro, in some alarm; for he had not, in his travels in foreign parts, been able by any means to rid himself of his native superstitions. In the condition to which fear and horror had reduced her, Minna was at first unable to reply; and Halcro, fixing his eyes upon the female white figure, which he saw indistinctly, (for she stood in the shadow of the house, and the morning was thick and misty,) began to conjure her in an ancient rhyme which occurred to him as suited for the occasion, and which had in its gibberish a wild and unearthly sound, which may be lost in the ensuing translation:-- "Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason; By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry! If of good, go hence and hallow thee,-- If of ill, let the earth swallow thee,-- If thou'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee,-- If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee,-- If a Pixie, seek thy ring,-- If a Nixie, seek thy spring;-- If on middle earth thou'st been Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, And dree'd the lot which men call life, Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is scant of thee, The worm, thy playfellow, wails for the want of thee;-- Hence, houseless ghost! let the earth hide thee, Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee!-- Phantom, fly hence! take the Cross for a token, Hence pass till Hallowmass!--my spell is spoken." "It is I, Halcro," muttered Minna, in a tone so thin and low, that it might have passed for the faint reply of the conjured phantom. "You!--you!" said Halcro, his tone of alarm changing to one of extreme surprise; "by this moonlight, which is waning, and so it is!--Who could have thought to find you, my most lovely Night, wandering abroad in your own element!--But you saw them, I reckon, as well as I?--bold enough in you to follow them, though." "Saw whom?--follow whom?" said Minna, hoping to gain some information on the subject of her fears and anxiety. "The corpse-lights which danced at the haven," replied Halcro; "they bode no good, I promise you--you wot well what the old rhyme says-- 'Where corpse-light Dances bright, Be it day or night, Be it by light or dark, There shall corpse lie stiff and stark.' I went half as far as the haven to look after them, but they had vanished. I think I saw a boat put off, however,--some one bound for the Haaf, I suppose.--I would we had good news of this fishing--there was Norna left us in anger,--and then these corpse-lights!--Well, God help the while! I am an old man, and can but wish that all were well over.--But how now, my pretty Minna? tears in your eyes!--And now that I see you in the fair moonlight, barefooted, too, by Saint Magnus!--Were there no stockings of Zetland wool soft enough for these pretty feet and ankles, that glance so white in the moonbeam?--What, silent!--angry, perhaps," he added, in a more serious tone, "at my nonsense? For shame, silly maiden!--Remember I am old enough to be your father, and have always loved you as my child." "I am not angry," said Minna, constraining herself to speak--"but heard you nothing?--saw you nothing?--They must have passed you." "They?" said Claud Halcro; "what mean you by they?--is it the corpse-lights?--No, they did not pass by me, but I think they have passed by you, and blighted you with their influence, for you are as pale as a spectre.--Come, come, Minna," he added, opening a side-door of the dwelling, "these moonlight walks are fitter for old poets than for young maidens--And so lightly clad as you are! Maiden, you should take care how you give yourself to the breezes of a Zetland night, for they bring more sleet than odours upon their wings.--But, maiden, go in; for, as glorious John says--or, as he does not say--for I cannot remember how his verse chimes--but, as I say myself, in a pretty poem, written when my muse was in her teens,-- Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, Till the first beam tinge the skies; Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, Till the sun has kiss'd the rose; Maiden's foot we should not view, Mark'd with tiny print on dew, Till the opening flowerets spread Carpet meet for beauty's tread-- Stay, what comes next?--let me see." When the spirit of recitation seized on Claud Halcro, he forgot time and place, and might have kept his companion in the cold air for half an hour, giving poetical reasons why she ought to have been in bed. But she interrupted him by the question, earnestly pronounced, yet in a voice which was scarcely articulate, holding Halcro, at the same time, with a trembling and convulsive grasp, as if to support herself from falling,--"Saw you no one in the boat which put to sea but now?" "Nonsense," replied Halcro; "how could I see any one, when light and distance only enabled me to know that it was a boat, and not a grampus?" "But there must have been some one in the boat?" repeated Minna, scarce conscious of what she said. "Certainly," answered the poet; "boats seldom work to windward of their own accord.--But come, this is all folly; and so, as the Queen says, in an old play, which was revived for the stage by rare Will D'Avenant, 'To bed--to bed--to bed!'" They separated, and Minna's limbs conveyed her with difficulty, through several devious passages, to her own chamber, where she stretched herself cautiously beside her still sleeping sister, with a mind harassed with the most agonizing apprehensions. That she had heard Cleveland, she was positive--the tenor of the songs left her no doubt on that subject. If not equally certain that she had heard young Mertoun's voice in hot quarrel with her lover, the impression to that effect was strong on her mind. The groan, with which the struggle seemed to terminate--the fearful indication from which it seemed that the conqueror had borne off the lifeless body of his victim--all tended to prove that some fatal event had concluded the contest. And which of the unhappy men had fallen?--which had met a bloody death?--which had achieved a fatal and a bloody victory?--These were questions to which the still small voice of interior conviction answered, that her lover Cleveland, from character, temper, and habits, was most likely to have been the survivor of the fray. She received from the reflection an involuntary consolation which she almost detested herself for admitting, when she recollected that it was at once darkened with her lover's guilt, and embittered with the destruction of Brenda's happiness for ever. "Innocent, unhappy sister!" such were her reflections; "thou that art ten times better than I, because so unpretending--so unassuming in thine excellence! How is it possible that I should cease to feel a pang, which is only transferred from my bosom to thine?" As these cruel thoughts crossed her mind, she could not refrain from straining her sister so close to her bosom, that, after a heavy sigh, Brenda awoke. "Sister," she said, "is it you?--I dreamed I lay on one of those monuments which Claud Halcro described to us, where the effigy of the inhabitant beneath lies carved in stone upon the sepulchre. I dreamed such a marble form lay by my side, and that it suddenly acquired enough of life and animation to fold me to its cold, moist bosom--and it is yours, Minna, that is indeed so chilly.--You are ill, my dearest Minna! for God's sake, let me rise and call Euphane Fea.--What ails you? has Norna been here again?" "Call no one hither," said Minna, detaining her; "nothing ails me for which any one has a remedy--nothing but apprehensions of evil worse than even Norna could prophesy. But God is above all, my dear Brenda; and let us pray to him to turn, as he only can, our evil into good." They did jointly repeat their usual prayer for strength and protection from on high, and again composed themselves to sleep, suffering no word save "God bless you," to pass betwixt them, when their devotions were finished; thus scrupulously dedicating to Heaven their last waking words, if human frailty prevented them from commanding their last waking thoughts. Brenda slept first, and Minna, strongly resisting the dark and evil presentiments which again began to crowd themselves upon her imagination, was at last so fortunate as to slumber also. The storm which Halcro had expected began about daybreak,--a squall, heavy with wind and rain, such as is often felt, even during the finest part of the season, in these latitudes. At the whistle of the wind, and the clatter of the rain on the shingle-roofing of the fishers' huts, many a poor woman was awakened, and called on her children to hold up their little hands, and join in prayer for the safety of the dear husband and father, who was even then at the mercy of the disturbed elements. Around the house of Burgh-Westra, chimneys howled, and windows clashed. The props and rafters of the higher parts of the building, most of them formed out of wreck-wood, groaned and quivered, as fearing to be again dispersed by the tempest. But the daughters of Magnus Troil continued to sleep as softly and as sweetly as if the hand of Chantrey had formed them out of statuary-marble. The squall had passed away, and the sunbeams, dispersing the clouds which drifted to leeward, shone full through the lattice, when Minna first started from the profound sleep into which fatigue and mental exhaustion had lulled her, and, raising herself on her arm, began to recall events, which, after this interval of profound repose, seemed almost to resemble the baseless visions of the night. She almost doubted if what she recalled of horror, previous to her starting from her bed, was not indeed the fiction of a dream, suggested, perhaps, by some external sounds. "I will see Claud Halcro instantly," she said; "he may know something of these strange noises, as he was stirring at the time." With that she sprung from bed, but hardly stood upright on the floor, ere her sister exclaimed, "Gracious Heaven! Minna, what ails your foot--your ankle?" She looked down, and saw with surprise, which amounted to agony, that both her feet, but particularly one of them, was stained with dark crimson, resembling the colour of dried blood. Without attempting to answer Brenda, she rushed to the window, and cast a desperate look on the grass beneath, for there she knew she must have contracted the fatal stain. But the rain, which had fallen there in treble quantity, as well from the heavens, as from the eaves of the house, had washed away that guilty witness, if indeed such had ever existed. All was fresh and fair, and the blades of grass, overcharged and bent with rain-drops, glittered like diamonds in the bright morning sun. While Minna stared upon the spangled verdure, with her full dark eyes fixed and enlarged to circles by the intensity of her terror, Brenda was hanging about her, and with many an eager enquiry, pressed to know whether or how she had hurt herself? "A piece of glass cut through my shoe," said Minna, bethinking herself that some excuse was necessary to her sister; "I scarce felt it at the time." "And yet see how it has bled," said her sister. "Sweet Minna," she added, approaching her with a wetted towel, "let me wipe the blood off--the hurt may be worse than you think of." But as she approached, Minna, who saw no other way of preventing discovery that the blood with which she was stained had never flowed in her own veins, harshly and hastily repelled the proffered kindness. Poor Brenda, unconscious of any offence which she had given to her sister, drew back two or three paces on finding her service thus unkindly refused, and stood gazing at Minna with looks in which there was more of surprise and mortified affection than of resentment, but which had yet something also of natural displeasure. "Sister," said she, "I thought we had agreed but last night, that, happen to us what might, we would at least love each other." "Much may happen betwixt night and morning!" answered Minna, in words rather wrenched from her by her situation, than flowing forth the voluntary interpreters of her thoughts. "Much may indeed have happened in a night so stormy," answered Brenda; "for see where the very wall around Euphane's plant-a-cruive has been blown down; but neither wind nor rain, nor aught else, can cool our affection, Minna." "But that may chance," replied Minna, "which may convert it into"---- The rest of the sentence she muttered in a tone so indistinct, that it could not be apprehended; while, at the same time, she washed the blood-stains from her feet and left ankle. Brenda, who still remained looking on at some distance, endeavoured in vain to assume some tone which might re-establish kindness and confidence betwixt them. "You were right," she said, "Minna, to suffer no one to help you to dress so simple a scratch--standing where I do, it is scarce visible." "The most cruel wounds," replied Minna, "are those which make no outward show--Are you sure you see it at all?" "O, yes!" replied Brenda, framing her answer as she thought would best please her sister; "I see a very slight scratch; nay, now you draw on the stocking, I can see nothing." "You do indeed see nothing," answered Minna, somewhat wildly; "but the time will soon come that all--ay, all--will be seen and known." So saying, she hastily completed her dress, and led the way to breakfast, where she assumed her place amongst the guests; but with a countenance so pale and haggard, and manners and speech so altered and so bewildered, that it excited the attention of the whole company, and the utmost anxiety on the part of her father Magnus Troil. Many and various were the conjectures of the guests, concerning a distemperature which seemed rather mental than corporeal. Some hinted that the maiden had been struck with an evil eye, and something they muttered about Norna of the Fitful-head; some talked of the departure of Captain Cleveland, and murmured, "it was a shame for a young lady to take on so after a landlouper, of whom no one knew any thing;" and this contemptuous epithet was in particular bestowed on the Captain by Mistress Baby Yellowley, while she was in the act of wrapping round her old skinny neck the very handsome owerlay (as she called it) wherewith the said Captain had presented her. The old Lady Glowrowrum had a system of her own, which she hinted to Mistress Yellowley, after thanking God that her own connexion with the Burgh-Westra family was by the lass's mother, who was a canny Scotswoman, like herself. "For, as to these Troils, you see, Dame Yellowley, for as high as they hold their heads, they say that ken," (winking sagaciously,) "that there is a bee in their bonnet;--that Norna, as they call her, for it's not her right name neither, is at whiles far beside her right mind,--and they that ken the cause, say the Fowd was some gate or other linked in with it, for he will never hear an ill word of her. But I was in Scotland then, or I might have kend the real cause, as weel as other folk. At ony rate there is a kind of wildness in the blood. Ye ken very weel daft folk dinna bide to be contradicted; and I'll say that for the Fowd--he likes to be contradicted as ill as ony man in Zetland. But it shall never be said that I said ony ill of the house that I am sae nearly connected wi'. Only ye will mind, dame, it is through the Sinclairs that we are akin, not through the Troils,--and the Sinclairs are kend far and wide for a wise generation, dame.--But I see there is the stirrup-cup coming round." "I wonder," said Mistress Baby to her brother, as soon as the Lady Glowrowrum turned from her, "what gars that muckle wife dame, dame, dame, that gate at me? She might ken the blude of the Clinkscales is as gude as ony Glowrowrum's amang them." The guests, meanwhile, were fast taking their departure, scarcely noticed by Magnus, who was so much engrossed with Minna's indisposition, that, contrary to his hospitable wont, he suffered them to go away unsaluted. And thus concluded, amidst anxiety and illness, the festival of Saint John, as celebrated on that season at the house of Burgh-Westra; adding another caution to that of the Emperor of Ethiopia,--with how little security man can reckon upon the days which he destines to happiness. FOOTNOTES: [12] I cannot suppress the pride of saying, that these lines have been beautifully set to original music, by Mrs. Arkwright, of Derbyshire. [13] The celebrated Sortes Virgilianæ were resorted to by Charles I. and his courtiers, as a mode of prying into futurity. CHAPTER IV. But this sad evil which doth her infest, Doth course of natural cause far exceed, And housed is within her hollow breast, That either seems some cursed witch's deed, Or evill spright that in her doth such torment breed. _Fairy Queen, Book III., Canto III._ The term had now elapsed, by several days, when Mordaunt Mertoun, as he had promised at his departure, should have returned to his father's abode at Jarlshof, but there were no tidings of his arrival. Such delay might, at another time, have excited little curiosity, and no anxiety; for old Swertha, who took upon her the office of thinking and conjecturing for the little household, would have concluded that he had remained behind the other guests upon some party of sport or pleasure. But she knew that Mordaunt had not been lately in favour with Magnus Troil; she knew that he proposed his stay at Burgh-Westra should be a short one, upon account of his father's health, to whom, notwithstanding the little encouragement which his filial piety received, he paid uniform attention. Swertha knew all this, and she became anxious. She watched the looks of her master, the elder Mertoun; but, wrapt in dark and stern uniformity of composure, his countenance, like the surface of a midnight lake, enabled no one to penetrate into what was beneath. His studies, his solitary meals, his lonely walks, succeeded each other in unvaried rotation, and seemed undisturbed by the least thought about Mordaunt's absence. At length such reports reached Swertha's ear, from various quarters, that she became totally unable to conceal her anxiety, and resolved, at the risk of provoking her master into fury, or perhaps that of losing her place in his household, to force upon his notice the doubts which afflicted her own mind. Mordaunt's good-humour and goodly person must indeed have made no small impression on the withered and selfish heart of the poor old woman, to induce her to take a course so desperate, and from which her friend the Ranzelman endeavoured in vain to deter her. Still, however, conscious that a miscarriage in the matter, would, like the loss of Trinculo's bottle in the horse-pool, be attended not only with dishonour, but with infinite loss, she determined to proceed on her high emprize with as much caution as was consistent with the attempt. We have already mentioned, that it seemed a part of the very nature of this reserved and unsocial being, at least since his retreat into the utter solitude of Jarlshof, to endure no one to start a subject of conversation, or to put any question to him, that did not arise out of urgent and pressing emergency. Swertha was sensible, therefore, that, in order to open the discourse favourably which she proposed to hold with her master, she must contrive that it should originate with himself. To accomplish this purpose, while busied in preparing the table for Mr. Mertoun's simple and solitary dinner-meal, she formally adorned the table with two covers instead of one, and made all her other preparations as if he was to have a guest or companion at dinner. The artifice succeeded; for Mertoun, on coming from his study, no sooner saw the table thus arranged, than he asked Swertha, who, waiting the effect of her stratagem as a fisher watches his ground-baits, was fiddling up and down the room, "Whether Mordaunt was returned from Burgh-Westra?" This question was the cue for Swertha, and she answered in a voice of sorrowful anxiety, half real, half affected, "Na, na!--nae sic divot had dunted at their door. It wad be blithe news indeed, to ken that young Maister Mordaunt, puir dear bairn, were safe at hame." "And if he be not at home, why should you lay a cover for him, you doting fool?" replied Mertoun, in a tone well calculated to stop the old woman's proceedings. But she replied, boldly, "that, indeed, somebody should take thought about Maister Mordaunt; a' that she could do was to have seat and plate ready for him when he came. But she thought the dear bairn had been ower lang awa; and, if she maun speak out, she had her ain fears when and whether he might ever come hame." "_Your_ fears!" said Mertoun, his eyes flashing as they usually did when his hour of ungovernable passion approached; "do you speak of your idle fears to me, who know that all of your sex, that is not fickleness, and folly, and self-conceit, and self-will, is a bundle of idiotical fears, vapours, and tremors? What are your fears to me, you foolish old hag?" It is an admirable quality in womankind, that, when a breach of the laws of natural affection comes under their observation, the whole sex is in arms. Let a rumour arise in the street of a parent that has misused a child, or a child that has insulted a parent,--I say nothing of the case of husband and wife, where the interest may be accounted for in sympathy,--and all the women within hearing will take animated and decided part with the sufferer. Swertha, notwithstanding her greed and avarice, had her share of the generous feeling which does so much honour to her sex, and was, on this occasion, so much carried on by its impulse, that she confronted her master, and upbraided him with his hard-hearted indifference, with a boldness at which she herself was astonished. "To be sure it wasna her that suld be fearing for her young maister, Maister Mordaunt, even although he was, as she might weel say, the very sea-calf of her heart; but ony other father, but his honour himsell, wad have had speerings made after the poor lad, and him gane this eight-days from Burgh-Westra, and naebody kend when or where he had gane. There wasna a bairn in the howff but was maining for him; for he made all their bits of boats with his knife; there wadna be a dry eye in the parish, if aught worse than weal should befall him,--na, no ane, unless it might be his honour's ain." Mertoun had been much struck, and even silenced, by the insolent volubility of his insurgent housekeeper; but, at the last sarcasm, he imposed on her silence in her turn with an audible voice, accompanied with one of the most terrific glances which his dark eye and stern features could express. But Swertha, who, as she afterwards acquainted the Ranzelman, was wonderfully supported during the whole scene, would not be controlled by the loud voice and ferocious look of her master, but proceeded in the same tone as before. "His honour," she said, "had made an unco wark because a wheen bits of kists and duds, that naebody had use for, had been gathered on the beach by the poor bodies of the township; and here was the bravest lad in the country lost, and cast away, as it were, before his een, and nae are asking what was come o' him." "What should come of him but good, you old fool," answered Mr. Mertoun, "as far, at least, as there can be good in any of the follies he spends his time in?" This was spoken rather in a scornful than an angry tone, and Swertha, who had got into the spirit of the dialogue, was resolved not to let it drop, now that the fire of her opponent seemed to slacken. "O ay, to be sure I am an auld fule,--but if Maister Mordaunt should have settled down in the Roost, as mair than ae boat had been lost in that wearifu' squall the other morning--by good luck it was short as it was sharp, or naething could have lived in it--or if he were drowned in a loch coming hame on foot, or if he were killed by miss of footing on a craig--the haill island kend how venturesome he was--who," said Swertha, "will be the auld fule then?" And she added a pathetic ejaculation, that "God would protect the poor motherless bairn! for if he had had a mother, there would have been search made after him before now." This last sarcasm affected Mertoun powerfully,--his jaw quivered, his face grew pale, and he muttered to Swertha to go into his study, (where she was scarcely ever permitted to enter,) and fetch him a bottle which stood there. "O ho!" quoth Swertha to herself, as she hastened on the commission, "my master knows where to find a cup of comfort to qualify his water with upon fitting occasions." There was indeed a case of such bottles as were usually employed to hold strong waters, but the dust and cobwebs in which they were enveloped showed that they had not been touched for many years. With some difficulty Swertha extracted the cork of one of them, by the help of a fork--for corkscrew was there none at Jarlshof--and having ascertained by smell, and, in case of any mistake, by a moderate mouthful, that it contained wholesome Barbadoes-waters, she carried it into the room, where her master still continued to struggle with his faintness. She then began to pour a small quantity into the nearest cup that she could find, wisely judging, that, upon a person so much unaccustomed to the use of spirituous liquors, a little might produce a strong effect. But the patient signed to her impatiently to fill the cup, which might hold more than the third of an English pint measure, up to the very brim, and swallowed it down without hesitation. "Now the saunts above have a care on us!" said Swertha; "he will be drunk as weel as mad, and wha is to guide him then, I wonder?" But Mertoun's breath and colour returned, without the slightest symptom of intoxication; on the contrary, Swertha afterwards reported, that, "although she had always had a firm opinion in favour of a dram, yet she never saw one work such miracles--he spoke mair like a man of the middle world, than she had ever heard him since she had entered his service." "Swertha," he said, "you are right in this matter, and I was wrong.--Go down to the Ranzelman directly, tell him to come and speak with me, without an instant's delay, and bring me special word what boats and people he can command; I will employ them all in the search, and they shall be plentifully rewarded." Stimulated by the spur which maketh the old woman proverbially to trot, Swertha posted down to the hamlet, with all the speed of threescore, rejoicing that her sympathetic feelings were likely to achieve their own reward, having given rise to a quest which promised to be so lucrative, and in the profits whereof she was determined to have her share, shouting out as she went, and long before she got within hearing, the names of Niel Ronaldson, Sweyn Erickson, and the other friends and confederates who were interested in her mission. To say the truth, notwithstanding that the good dame really felt a deep interest in Mordaunt Mertoun, and was mentally troubled on account of his absence, perhaps few things would have disappointed her more than if he had at this moment started up in her path safe and sound, and rendered unnecessary, by his appearance, the expense and the bustle of searching after him. Soon did Swertha accomplish her business in the village, and adjust with the senators of the township her own little share of per centage upon the profits likely to accrue on her mission; and speedily did she return to Jarlshof, with Niel Ronaldson by her side, schooling him to the best of her skill in all the peculiarities of her master. "Aboon a' things," she said, "never make him wait for an answer; and speak loud and distinct, as if you were hailing a boat,--for he downa bide to say the same thing twice over; and if he asks about distance, ye may make leagues for miles, for he kens naething about the face of the earth that he lives upon; and if he speak of siller, ye may ask dollars for shillings, for he minds them nae mair than sclate-stanes." Thus tutored, Niel Ronaldson was introduced into the presence of Mertoun, but was utterly confounded to find that he could not act upon the system of deception which had been projected. When he attempted, by some exaggeration of distance and peril, to enhance the hire of the boats, and of the men, (for the search was to be by sea and land,) he found himself at once cut short by Mertoun, who showed not only the most perfect knowledge of the country, but of distances, tides, currents, and all belonging to the navigation of those seas, although these were topics with which he had hitherto appeared to be totally unacquainted. The Ranzelman, therefore, trembled when they came to speak of the recompense to be afforded for their exertions in the search; for it was not more unlikely that Mertoun should be well informed of what was just and proper upon this head than upon others; and Niel remembered the storm of his fury, when, at an early period after he had settled at Jarlshof, he drove Swertha and Sweyn Erickson from his presence. As, however, he stood hesitating betwixt the opposite fears of asking too much or too little, Mertoun stopped his mouth, and ended his uncertainty, by promising him a recompense beyond what he dared have ventured to ask, with an additional gratuity, in case they returned with the pleasing intelligence that his son was safe. When this great point was settled, Niel Ronaldson, like a man of conscience, began to consider earnestly the various places where search should be made after the young man; and having undertaken faithfully that the enquiry should be prosecuted at all the houses of the gentry, both in this and the neighbouring islands, he added, that, "after all, if his honour would not be angry, there was ane not far off, that, if any body dared speer her a question, and if she liked to answer it, could tell more about Maister Mordaunt than any body else could.--Ye will ken wha I mean, Swertha? Her that was down at the haven this morning." Thus he concluded, addressing himself with a mysterious look to the housekeeper, which she answered with a nod and a wink. "How mean you?" said Mertoun; "speak out, short and open--whom do you speak of?" "It is Norna of the Fitful-head," said Swertha, "that the Ranzelman is thinking about; for she has gone up to Saint Ringan's Kirk this morning on business of her own." "And what can this person know of my son?" said Mertoun; "she is, I believe, a wandering madwoman, or impostor." "If she wanders," said Swertha, "it is for nae lack of means at hame, and that is weel known--plenty of a' thing has she of her ain, forby that the Fowd himsell would let her want naething." "But what is that to my son?" said Mertoun, impatiently. "I dinna ken--she took unco pleasure in Maister Mordaunt from the time she first saw him, and mony a braw thing she gave him at ae time or another, forby the gowd chain that hangs about his bonny craig--folk say it is of fairy gold--I kenna what gold it is, but Bryce Snailsfoot says, that the value will mount to an hundred pounds English, and that is nae deaf nuts." "Go, Ronaldson," said Mertoun, "or else send some one, to seek this woman out--if you think there be a chance of her knowing any thing of my son." "She kens a' thing that happens in thae islands," said Niel Ronaldson, "muckle sooner than other folk, and that is Heaven's truth. But as to going to the kirk, or the kirkyard, to speer after her, there is not a man in Zetland will do it, for meed or for money--and that's Heaven's truth as weel as the other." "Cowardly, superstitious fools!" said Mertoun.--"But give me my cloak, Swertha.--This woman has been at Burgh-Westra--she is related to Troil's family--she may know something of Mordaunt's absence, and its cause--I will seek her myself--She is at the Cross-kirk, you say?" "No, not at the Cross-kirk, but at the auld Kirk of Saint Ringan's--it's a dowie bit, and far frae being canny; and if your honour," added Swertha, "wad walk by my rule, I wad wait until she came back, and no trouble her when she may be mair busied wi' the dead, for ony thing that we ken, than she is wi' the living. The like of her carena to have other folk's een on them when they are, gude sain us! doing their ain particular turns." Mertoun made no answer, but throwing his cloak loosely around him, (for the day was misty, with passing showers,) and leaving the decayed mansion of Jarlshof, he walked at a pace much faster than was usual with him, taking the direction of the ruinous church, which stood, as he well knew, within three or four miles of his dwelling. The Ranzelman and Swertha stood gazing after him in silence, until he was fairly out of ear-shot, when, looking seriously on each other, and shaking their sagacious heads in the same boding degree of vibration, they uttered their remarks in the same breath. "Fools are aye fleet and fain," said Swertha. "Fey folk run fast," added the Ranzelman; "and the thing that we are born to, we cannot win by.--I have known them that tried to stop folk that were fey. You have heard of Helen Emberson of Camsey, how she stopped all the boles and windows about the house, that her gudeman might not see daylight, and rise to the Haaf-fishing, because she feared foul weather; and how the boat he should have sailed in was lost in the Roost; and how she came back, rejoicing in her gudeman's safety--but ne'er may care, for there she found him drowned in his own masking-fat, within the wa's of his ain biggin; and moreover"---- But here Swertha reminded the Ranzelman that he must go down to the haven to get off the fishing-boats; "for both that my heart is sair for the bonny lad, and that I am fear'd he cast up of his ain accord before you are at sea; and, as I have often told ye, my master may lead, but he winna drive; and if ye do not his bidding, and get out to sea, the never a bodle of boat-hire will ye see." "Weel, weel, good dame," said the Ranzelman, "we will launch as fast as we can; and by good luck, neither Clawson's boat, nor Peter Grot's, is out to the Haaf this morning, for a rabbit ran across the path as they were going on board, and they came back like wise men, kenning they wad be called to other wark this day. And a marvel it is to think, Swertha, how few real judicious men are left in this land. There is our great Udaller is weel eneugh when he is fresh, but he makes ower mony voyages in his ship and his yawl to be lang sae; and now, they say, his daughter, Mistress Minna, is sair out of sorts.--Then there is Norna kens muckle mair than other folk, but wise woman ye cannot call her. Our tacksman here, Maister Mertoun, his wit is sprung in the bowsprit, I doubt--his son is a daft gowk; and I ken few of consequence hereabouts--excepting always myself, and maybe you, Swertha--but what may, in some sense or other, be called fules." "That may be, Niel Ronaldson," said the dame; "but if you do not hasten the faster to the shore, you will lose tide; and, as I said to my master some short time syne, wha will be the fule then?" CHAPTER V. I do love these ancient ruins-- We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history; And, questionless, here, in this open court, (Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather,) some men lie interr'd, Loved the Church so well, and gave so largely to it, They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday;--but all things have their end-- Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death which we have. _Duchess of Malfy._ The ruinous church of Saint Ninian had, in its time, enjoyed great celebrity; for that mighty system of Roman superstition, which spread its roots over all Europe, had not failed to extend them even to this remote archipelago, and Zetland had, in the Catholic times, her saints, her shrines, and her relics, which, though little known elsewhere, attracted the homage, and commanded the observance, of the simple inhabitants of Thule. Their devotion to this church of Saint Ninian, or, as he was provincially termed, Saint Ringan, situated, as the edifice was, close to the sea-beach, and serving, in many points, as a landmark to their boats, was particularly obstinate, and was connected with so much superstitious ceremonial and credulity, that the reformed clergy thought it best, by an order of the Church Courts, to prohibit all spiritual service within its walls, as tending to foster the rooted faith of the simple and rude people around in saint-worship, and other erroneous doctrines of the Romish Church. After the Church of Saint Ninian had been thus denounced as a seat of idolatry, and desecrated of course, the public worship was transferred to another church; and the roof, with its lead and its rafters, having been stripped from the little rude old Gothic building, it was left in the wilderness to the mercy of the elements. The fury of the uncontrolled winds, which howled along an exposed space, resembling that which we have described at Jarlshof, very soon choked up nave and aisle, and, on the north-west side, which was chiefly exposed to the wind, hid the outside walls more than half way up with mounds of drifted sand, over which the gable-ends of the building, with the little belfry, which was built above its eastern angle, arose in ragged and shattered nakedness of ruin. Yet, deserted as it was, the Kirk of Saint Ringan still retained some semblance of the ancient homage formerly rendered there. The rude and ignorant fishermen of Dunrossness observed a practice, of which they themselves had wellnigh forgotten the origin, and from which the Protestant Clergy in vain endeavoured to deter them. When their boats were in extreme peril, it was common amongst them to propose to vow an _awmous_, as they termed it, that is, an alms, to Saint Ringan; and when the danger was over, they never failed to absolve themselves of their vow, by coming singly and secretly to the old church, and putting off their shoes and stockings at the entrance of the churchyard, walking thrice around the ruins, observing that they did so in the course of the sun. When the circuit was accomplished for the third time, the votary dropped his offering, usually a small silver coin, through the mullions of a lanceolated window, which opened into a side aisle, and then retired, avoiding carefully to look behind him till he was beyond the precincts which had once been hallowed ground; for it was believed that the skeleton of the saint received the offering in his bony hand, and showed his ghastly death's-head at the window into which it was thrown. Indeed, the scene was rendered more appalling to weak and ignorant minds, because the same stormy and eddying winds, which, on the one side of the church, threatened to bury the ruins with sand, and had, in fact, heaped it up in huge quantities, so as almost to hide the side-wall with its buttresses, seemed in other places bent on uncovering the graves of those who had been laid to their long rest on the south-eastern quarter; and, after an unusually hard gale, the coffins, and sometimes the very corpses, of those who had been interred without the usual cerements, were discovered, in a ghastly manner, to the eyes of the living. It was to this desolated place of worship that the elder Mertoun now proceeded, though without any of those religious or superstitious purposes with which the church of Saint Ringan was usually approached. He was totally without the superstitious fears of the country,--nay, from the sequestered and sullen manner in which he lived, withdrawing himself from human society even when assembled for worship, it was the general opinion that he erred on the more fatal side, and believed rather too little than too much of that which the Church receives and enjoins to Christians. As he entered the little bay, on the shore, and almost on the beach of which the ruins are situated, he could not help pausing for an instant, and becoming sensible that the scene, as calculated to operate on human feelings, had been selected with much judgment as the site of a religious house. In front lay the sea, into which two headlands, which formed the extremities of the bay, projected their gigantic causeways of dark and sable rocks, on the ledges of which the gulls, scouries, and other sea-fowl, appeared like flakes of snow; while, upon the lower ranges of the cliff, stood whole lines of cormorants, drawn up alongside of each other, like soldiers in their battle array, and other living thing was there none to see. The sea, although not in a tempestuous state, was disturbed enough to rush on these capes with a sound like distant thunder, and the billows, which rose in sheets of foam half way up these sable rocks, formed a contrast of colouring equally striking and awful. Betwixt the extremities, or capes, of these projecting headlands, there rolled, on the day when Mertoun visited the scene, a deep and dense aggregation of clouds, through which no human eye could penetrate, and which, bounding the vision, and excluding all view of the distant ocean, rendered it no unapt representation of the sea in the Vision of Mirza whose extent was concealed by vapours, and clouds, and storms. The ground rising steeply from the sea-beach, permitting no view into the interior of the country, appeared a scene of irretrievable barrenness, where scrubby and stunted heath, intermixed with the long bent, or coarse grass, which first covers sandy soils, were the only vegetables that could be seen. Upon a natural elevation, which rose above the beach in the very bottom of the bay, and receded a little from the sea, so as to be without reach of the waves, arose the half-buried ruin which we have already described, surrounded by a wasted, half-ruinous, and mouldering wall, which, breached in several places, served still to divide the precincts of the cemetery. The mariners who were driven by accident into this solitary bay, pretended that the church was occasionally observed to be full of lights, and, from that circumstance, were used to prophesy shipwrecks and deaths by sea. As Mertoun approached near to the chapel, he adopted, insensibly, and perhaps without much premeditation, measures to avoid being himself seen, until he came close under the walls of the burial-ground, which he approached, as it chanced, on that side where the sand was blowing from the graves, in the manner we have described. Here, looking through one of the gaps in the wall which time had made, he beheld the person whom he sought, occupied in a manner which assorted well with the ideas popularly entertained of her character, but which was otherwise sufficiently extraordinary. She was employed beside a rude monument, on one side of which was represented the rough outline of a cavalier, or knight, on horseback, while, on the other, appeared a shield, with the armorial bearings so defaced as not to be intelligible; which escutcheon was suspended by one angle, contrary to the modern custom, which usually places them straight and upright. At the foot of this pillar was believed to repose, as Mertoun had formerly heard, the bones of Ribolt Troil, one of the remote ancestors of Magnus, and a man renowned for deeds of valorous emprize in the fifteenth century. From the grave of this warrior Norna of the Fitful-head seemed busied in shovelling the sand, an easy task where it was so light and loose; so that it seemed plain that she would shortly complete what the rude winds had begun, and make bare the bones which lay there interred. As she laboured, she muttered her magic song; for without the Runic rhyme no form of northern superstition was ever performed. We have perhaps preserved too many examples of these incantations; but we cannot help attempting to translate that which follows:-- "Champion, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild-bear's skin Ye slumber'd on while life was in?-- A woman now, or babe, may come, And cast the covering from thy tomb. "Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight! I come not, with unhallow'd tread, To wake the slumbers of the dead, Or lay thy giant relics bare; But what I seek thou well canst spare. Be it to my hand allow'd To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud; Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough To shield thy bones from weather rough. "See, I draw my magic knife-- Never while thou wert in life Laid'st thou still for sloth or fear, When point and edge were glittering near; See, the cerements now I sever-- Waken now, or sleep for ever! Thou wilt not wake? the deed is done!-- The prize I sought is fairly won. "Thanks, Ribolt, thanks,--for this the sea Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee,-- And while afar its billows foam, Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. Thanks, Ribolt, thanks--for this the might Of wild winds raging at their height, When to thy place of slumber nigh, Shall soften to a lullaby. "She, the dame of doubt and dread, Norna of the Fitful-head, Mighty in her own despite-- Miserable in her might; In despair and frenzy great,-- In her greatness desolate; Wisest, wickedest who lives, Well can keep the word she gives." While Norna chanted the first part of this rhyme, she completed the task of laying bare a part of the leaden coffin of the ancient warrior, and severed from it, with much caution and apparent awe, a portion of the metal. She then reverentially threw back the sand upon the coffin; and by the time she had finished her song, no trace remained that the secrets of the sepulchre had been violated. Mertoun remained gazing on her from behind the churchyard wall during the whole ceremony, not from any impression of veneration for her or her employment, but because he conceived that to interrupt a madwoman in her act of madness, was not the best way to obtain from her such intelligence as she might have to impart. Meanwhile he had full time to consider her figure, although her face was obscured by her dishevelled hair, and by the hood of her dark mantle, which permitted no more to be visible than a Druidess would probably have exhibited at the celebration of her mystical rites. Mertoun had often heard of Norna before; nay, it is most probable that he might have seen her repeatedly, for she had been in the vicinity of Jarlshof more than once since his residence there. But the absurd stories which were in circulation respecting her, prevented his paying any attention to a person whom he regarded as either an impostor or a madwoman, or a compound of both. Yet, now that his attention was, by circumstances, involuntarily fixed upon her person and deportment, he could not help acknowledging to himself that she was either a complete enthusiast, or rehearsed her part so admirably, that no Pythoness of ancient times could have excelled her. The dignity and solemnity of her gesture,--the sonorous, yet impressive tone of voice with which she addressed the departed spirit whose mortal relics she ventured to disturb, were such as failed not to make an impression upon him, careless and indifferent as he generally appeared to all that went on around him. But no sooner was her singular occupation terminated, than, entering the churchyard with some difficulty, by clambering over the disjointed ruins of the wall, he made Norna aware of his presence. Far from starting, or expressing the least surprise at his appearance in a place so solitary, she said, in a tone that seemed to intimate that he had been expected, "So,--you have sought me at last?" "And found you," replied Mertoun, judging he would best introduce the enquiries he had to make, by assuming a tone which corresponded to her own. "Yes!" she replied, "found me you have, and in the place where all men must meet--amid the tabernacles of the dead." "Here we must, indeed, meet at last," replied Mertoun, glancing his eyes on the desolate scene around, where headstones, half covered in sand, and others, from which the same wind had stripped the soil on which they rested, covered with inscriptions, and sculptured with the emblems of mortality, were the most conspicuous objects,--"here, as in the house of death, all men must meet at length; and happy those that come soonest to the quiet haven." "He that dares desire this haven," said Norna, "must have steered a steady course in the voyage of life. _I_ dare not hope for such quiet harbour. Darest _thou_ expect it? or has the course thou hast kept deserved it?" "It matters not to my present purpose," replied Mertoun; "I have to ask you what tidings you know of my son Mordaunt Mertoun?" "A father," replied the sibyl, "asks of a stranger what tidings she has of his son! How should I know aught of him? the cormorant says not to the mallard, where is my brood?" "Lay aside this useless affectation of mystery," said Mertoun; "with the vulgar and ignorant it has its effect, but upon me it is thrown away. The people of Jarlshof have told me that you do know, or may know, something of Mordaunt Mertoun, who has not returned home after the festival of Saint John's, held in the house of your relative, Magnus Troil. Give me such information, if indeed ye have it to give; and it shall be recompensed, if the means of recompense are in my power." "The wide round of earth," replied Norna, "holds nothing that I would call a recompense for the slightest word that I throw away upon a living ear. But for thy son, if thou wouldst see him in life, repair to the approaching Fair of Kirkwall, in Orkney." "And wherefore thither?" said Mertoun; "I know he had no purpose in that direction." "We drive on the stream of fate," answered Norna, "without oar or rudder. You had no purpose this morning of visiting the Kirk of Saint Ringan, yet you are here;--you had no purpose but a minute hence of being at Kirkwall, and yet you will go thither." "Not unless the cause is more distinctly explained to me. I am no believer, dame, in those who assert your supernatural powers." "You shall believe in them ere we part," said Norna. "As yet you know but little of me, nor shall you know more. But I know enough of you, and could convince you with one word that I do so." "Convince me, then," said Mertoun; "for unless I am so convinced, there is little chance of my following your counsel." "Mark, then," said Norna, "what I have to say on your son's score, else what I shall say to you on your own will banish every other thought from your memory. You shall go to the approaching Fair at Kirkwall; and, on the fifth day of the Fair, you shall walk, at the hour of noon, in the outer aisle of the Cathedral of Saint Magnus, and there you shall meet a person who will give you tidings of your son." "You must speak more distinctly, dame," returned Mertoun, scornfully, "if you hope that I should follow your counsel. I have been fooled in my time by women, but never so grossly as you seem willing to gull me." "Hearken, then!" said the old woman. "The word which I speak shall touch the nearest secret of thy life, and thrill thee through nerve and bone." So saying, she whispered a word into Mertoun's ear, the effect of which seemed almost magical. He remained fixed and motionless with surprise, as, waving her arm slowly aloft, with an air of superiority and triumph, Norna glided from him, turned round a corner of the ruins, and was soon out of sight. Mertoun offered not to follow, or to trace her. "We fly from our fate in vain!" he said, as he began to recover himself; and turning, he left behind him the desolate ruins with their cemetery. As he looked back from the very last point at which the church was visible, he saw the figure of Norna, muffled in her mantle, standing on the very summit of the ruined tower, and stretching out in the sea-breeze something which resembled a white pennon, or flag. A feeling of horror, similar to that excited by her last words, again thrilled through his bosom, and he hastened onwards with unwonted speed, until he had left the church of Saint Ninian, with its bay of sand, far behind him. Upon his arrival at Jarlshof, the alteration in his countenance was so great, that Swertha conjectured he was about to fall into one of those fits of deep melancholy which she termed his dark hour. "And what better could be expected," thought Swertha, "when he must needs go visit Norna of the Fitful-head, when she was in the haunted Kirk of Saint Ringan's?" But without testifying any other symptoms of an alienated mind, than that of deep and sullen dejection, her master acquainted her with his intention to go to the Fair of Kirkwall,--a thing so contrary to his usual habits, that the housekeeper wellnigh refused to credit her ears. Shortly after, he heard, with apparent indifference, the accounts returned by the different persons who had been sent out in quest of Mordaunt, by sea and land, who all of them returned without any tidings. The equanimity with which Mertoun heard the report of their bad success, convinced Swertha still more firmly, that, in his interview with Norna, that issue had been predicted to him by the sibyl whom he had consulted. The township were yet more surprised, when their tacksman, Mr. Mertoun, as if on some sudden resolution, made preparations to visit Kirkwall during the Fair, although he had hitherto avoided sedulously all such places of public resort. Swertha puzzled herself a good deal, without being able to penetrate this mystery; and vexed herself still more concerning the fate of her young master. But her concern was much softened by the deposit of a sum of money, seeming, however moderate in itself, a treasure in her eyes, which her master put into her hands, acquainting her at the same time, that he had taken his passage for Kirkwall, in a small bark belonging to the proprietor of the island of Mousa. CHAPTER VI. Nae langer she wept,--her tears were a' spent,-- Despair it was come, and she thought it content; She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale, And she droop'd, like a lily broke down by the hail. _Continuation of Auld Robin Gray_.[14](_d_) The condition of Minna much resembled that of the village heroine in Lady Ann Lindsay's beautiful ballad. Her natural firmness of mind prevented her from sinking under the pressure of the horrible secret, which haunted her while awake, and was yet more tormenting during her broken and hurried slumbers. There is no grief so dreadful as that which we dare not communicate, and in which we can neither ask nor desire sympathy; and when to this is added the burden of a guilty mystery to an innocent bosom, there is little wonder that Minna's health should have sunk under the burden. To the friends around, her habits and manners, nay, her temper, seemed altered to such an extraordinary degree, that it is no wonder that some should have ascribed the change to witchcraft, and some to incipient madness. She became unable to bear the solitude in which she formerly delighted to spend her time; yet when she hurried into society, it was without either joining in, or attending to, what passed. Generally she appeared wrapped in sad, and even sullen abstraction, until her attention was suddenly roused by some casual mention of the name of Cleveland, or of Mordaunt Mertoun, at which she started, with the horror of one who sees the lighted match applied to a charged mine, and expects to be instantly involved in the effects of the explosion. And when she observed that the discovery was not yet made, it was so far from being a consolation, that she almost wished the worst were known, rather than endure the continued agonies of suspense. Her conduct towards her sister was so variable, yet uniformly so painful to the kind-hearted Brenda, that it seemed to all around, one of the strongest features of her malady. Sometimes Minna was impelled to seek her sister's company, as if by the consciousness that they were common sufferers by a misfortune of which she herself alone could grasp the extent; and then suddenly the feeling of the injury which Brenda had received through the supposed agency of Cleveland, made her unable to bear her presence, and still less to endure the consolation which her sister, mistaking the nature of her malady, vainly endeavoured to administer. Frequently, also, did it happen, that, while Brenda was imploring her sister to take comfort, she incautiously touched upon some subject which thrilled to the very centre of her soul; so that, unable to conceal her agony, Minna would rush hastily from the apartment. All these different moods, though they too much resembled, to one who knew not their real source, the caprices of unkind estrangement, Brenda endured with such prevailing and unruffled gentleness of disposition, that Minna was frequently moved to shed floods of tears upon her neck; and, perhaps, the moments in which she did so, though embittered by the recollection that her fatal secret concerned the destruction of Brenda's happiness as well as her own, were still, softened as they were by sisterly affection, the most endurable moments of this most miserable period of her life. The effects of the alternations of moping melancholy, fearful agitation, and bursts of nervous feeling, were soon visible on the poor young woman's face and person. She became pale and emaciated; her eye lost the steady quiet look of happiness and innocence, and was alternately dim and wild, as she was acted upon by a general feeling of her own distressful condition, or by some quicker and more poignant sense of agony. Her very features seemed to change, and become sharp and eager, and her voice, which, in its ordinary tones, was low and placid, now sometimes sunk in indistinct mutterings, and sometimes was raised beyond the natural key, in hasty and abrupt exclamations. When in company with others, she was sullenly silent, and, when she ventured into solitude, was observed (for it was now thought very proper to watch her on such occasions) to speak much to herself. The pharmacy of the islands was in vain resorted to by Minna's anxious father. Sages of both sexes, who knew the virtues of every herb which drinks the dew, and augmented those virtues by words of might, used while they prepared and applied the medicines, were attended with no benefit; and Magnus, in the utmost anxiety, was at last induced to have recourse to the advice of his kinswoman, Norna of the Fitful-head, although, owing to circumstances noticed in the course of the story, there was at this time some estrangement between them. His first application was in vain. Norna was then at her usual place of residence, upon the sea-coast, near the headland from which she usually took her designation; but, although Eric Scambester himself brought the message, she refused positively to see him, or to return any answer. Magnus was angry at the slight put upon his messenger and message, but his anxiety on Minna's account, as well as the respect which he had for Norna's real misfortunes and imputed wisdom and power, prevented him from indulging, on the present occasion, his usual irritability of disposition. On the contrary, he determined to make an application to his kinswoman in his own person. He kept his purpose, however, to himself, and only desired his daughters to be in readiness to attend him upon a visit to a relation whom he had not seen for some time, and directed them, at the same time, to carry some provisions along with them, as the journey was distant, and they might perhaps find their friend unprovided. Unaccustomed to ask explanations of his pleasure, and hoping that exercise and the amusement of such an excursion might be of service to her sister, Brenda, upon whom all household and family charges now devolved, caused the necessary preparations to be made for the expedition; and, on the next morning, they were engaged in tracing the long and tedious course of beach and of moorland, which, only varied by occasional patches of oats and barley, where a little ground had been selected for cultivation, divided Burgh-Westra from the north-western extremity of the Mainland, (as the principal island is called,) which terminates in the cape called Fitful-head, as the south-western point ends in the cape of Sumburgh. On they went, through wild and over wold, the Udaller bestriding a strong, square-made, well-barrelled palfrey, of Norwegian breed, somewhat taller, and yet as stout, as the ordinary ponies of the country; while Minna and Brenda, famed, amongst other accomplishments, for their horsemanship, rode two of those hardy animals, which, bred and reared with more pains than is usually bestowed, showed, both by the neatness of their form and their activity, that the race, so much and so carelessly neglected, is capable of being improved into beauty without losing any thing of its spirit or vigour. They were attended by two servants on horseback, and two on foot, secure that the last circumstance would be no delay to their journey, because a great part of the way was so rugged, or so marshy, that the horses could only move at a foot pace; and that, whenever they met with any considerable tract of hard and even ground, they had only to borrow from the nearest herd of ponies the use of a couple for the accommodation of these pedestrians. The journey was a melancholy one, and little conversation passed, except when the Udaller, pressed by impatience and vexation, urged his pony to a quick pace, and again, recollecting Minna's weak state of health, slackened to a walk, and reiterated enquiries how she felt herself, and whether the fatigue was not too much for her. At noon the party halted, and partook of some refreshment, for which they had made ample provision, beside a pleasant spring, the pureness of whose waters, however, did not suit the Udaller's palate, until qualified by a liberal addition of right Nantz. After he had a second, yea and a third time, filled a large silver travelling-cup, embossed with a German Cupid smoking a pipe, and a German Bacchus emptying his flask down the throat of a bear, he began to become more talkative than vexation had permitted him to be during the early part of their journey, and thus addressed his daughters:-- "Well, children, we are within a league or two of Norna's dwelling, and we shall soon see how the old spell-mutterer will receive us." Minna interrupted her father with a faint exclamation, while Brenda, surprised to a great degree, exclaimed, "Is it then to Norna that we are to make this visit?--Heaven forbid!" "And wherefore should Heaven forbid?" said the Udaller, knitting his brows; "wherefore, I would gladly know, should Heaven forbid me to visit my kinswoman, whose skill may be of use to your sister, if any woman in Zetland, or man either, can be of service to her?--You are a fool, Brenda,--your sister has more sense.--Cheer up, Minna!--thou wert ever wont to like her songs and stories, and used to hang about her neck, when little Brenda cried and ran from her like a Spanish merchantman from a Dutch caper."[15] "I wish she may not frighten me as much to-day, father," replied Brenda, desirous of indulging Minna in her taciturnity, and at the same time to amuse her father by sustaining the conversation; "I have heard so much of her dwelling, that I am rather alarmed at the thought of going there uninvited." "Thou art a fool," said Magnus, "to think that a visit from her kinsfolks can ever come amiss to a kind, hearty, Hialtland heart, like my cousin Norna's.--And, now I think on't, I will be sworn that is the reason why she would not receive Eric Scambester!--It is many a long day since I have seen her chimney smoke, and I have never carried you thither--She hath indeed some right to call me unkind. But I will tell her the truth--and that is, that though such be the fashion, I do not think it is fair or honest to eat up the substance of lone women-folks, as we do that of our brother Udallers, when we roll about from house to house in the winter season, until we gather like a snowball, and eat up all wherever we come." "There is no fear of our putting Norna to any distress just now," replied Brenda, "for I have ample provision of every thing that we can possibly need--fish, and bacon, and salted mutton, and dried geese--more than we could eat in a week, besides enough of liquor for you, father." "Right, right, my girl!" said the Udaller; "a well-found ship makes a merry voyage--so we shall only want the kindness of Norna's roof, and a little bedding for you; for, as to myself, my sea-cloak, and honest dry boards of Norway deal, suit me better than your eider-down cushions and mattresses. So that Norna will have the pleasure of seeing us without having a stiver's worth of trouble." "I wish she may think it a pleasure, sir," replied Brenda. "Why, what does the girl mean, in the name of the Martyr?" replied Magnus Troil; "dost thou think my kinswoman is a heathen, who will not rejoice to see her own flesh and blood?--I would I were as sure of a good year's fishing!--No, no! I only fear we may find her from home at present, for she is often a wanderer, and all with thinking over much on what can never be helped." Minna sighed deeply as her father spoke, and the Udaller went on:-- "Dost thou sigh at that, my girl?--why, 'tis the fault of half the world--let it never be thine own, Minna." Another suppressed sigh intimated that the caution came too late. "I believe you are afraid of my cousin as well as Brenda is," said the Udaller, gazing on her pale countenance; "if so, speak the word, and we will return back again as if we had the wind on our quarter, and were running fifteen knots by the line." "Do, for Heaven's sake, sister, let us return!" said Brenda, imploringly; "you know--you remember--you must be well aware that Norna can do nought to help you." "It is but too true," said Minna, in a subdued voice; "but I know not--she may answer a question--a question that only the miserable dare ask of the miserable." "Nay, my kinswoman is no miser," answered the Udaller, who only heard the beginning of the word; "a good income she has, both in Orkney and here, and many a fair lispund of butter is paid to her. But the poor have the best share of it, and shame fall the Zetlander who begrudges them; the rest she spends, I wot not how, in her journeys through the islands. But you will laugh to see her house, and Nick Strumpfer, whom she calls Pacolet--many folks think Nick is the devil; but he is flesh and blood, like any of us--his father lived in Græmsay--I shall be glad to see Nick again." While the Udaller thus ran on, Brenda, who, in recompense for a less portion of imagination than her sister, was gifted with sound common sense, was debating with herself the probable effect of this visit on her sister's health. She came finally to the resolution of speaking with her father aside, upon the first occasion which their journey should afford. To him she determined to communicate the whole particulars of their nocturnal interview with Norna,--to which, among other agitating causes, she attributed the depression of Minna's spirits,--and then make himself the judge whether he ought to persist in his visit to a person so singular, and expose his daughter to all the shock which her nerves might possibly receive from the interview. Just as she had arrived at this conclusion, her father, dashing the crumbs from his laced waistcoat with one hand, and receiving with the other a fourth cup of brandy and water, drank devoutly to the success of their voyage, and ordered all to be in readiness to set forward. Whilst they were saddling their ponies, Brenda, with some difficulty, contrived to make her father understand she wished to speak with him in private--no small surprise to the honest Udaller, who, though secret as the grave in the very few things where he considered secrecy as of importance, was so far from practising mystery in general, that his most important affairs were often discussed by him openly in presence of his whole family, servants included. But far greater was his astonishment, when, remaining purposely with his daughter Brenda, a little in the wake, as he termed it, of the other riders, he heard the whole account of Norna's visit to Burgh-Westra, and of the communication with which she had then astounded his daughters. For a long time he could utter nothing but interjections, and ended with a thousand curses on his kinswoman's folly in telling his daughters such a history of horror. "I have often heard," said the Udaller, "that she was quite mad, with all her wisdom, and all her knowledge of the seasons; and, by the bones of my namesake, the Martyr, I begin now to believe it most assuredly! I know no more how to steer than if I had lost my compass. Had I known this before we set out, I think I had remained at home; but now that we have come so far, and that Norna expects us"---- "Expects us, father!" said Brenda; "how can that be possible?" "Why, that I know not--but she that can tell how the wind is to blow, can tell which way we are designing to ride. She must not be provoked;--perhaps she has done my family this ill for the words I had with her about that lad Mordaunt Mertoun, and if so, she can undo it again;--and so she shall, or I will know the cause wherefore. But I will try fair words first." Finding it thus settled that they were to go forward, Brenda endeavoured next to learn from her father whether Norna's tale was founded in reality. He shook his head, groaned bitterly, and, in a few words, acknowledged that the whole, so far as concerned her intrigue with a stranger, and her father's death, of which she became the accidental and most innocent cause, was a matter of sad and indisputable truth. "For her infant," he said, "he could never, by any means, learn what became of it." "Her infant!" exclaimed Brenda; "she spoke not a word of her infant!" "Then I wish my tongue had been blistered," said the Udaller, "when I told you of it!--I see that, young and old, a man has no better chance of keeping a secret from you women, than an eel to keep himself in his hold when he is sniggled with a loop of horse-hair--sooner or later the fisher teazes him out of his hole, when he has once the noose round his neck." "But the infant, my father," said Brenda, still insisting on the particulars of this extraordinary story, "what became of it?" "Carried off, I fancy, by the blackguard Vaughan," answered the Udaller, with a gruff accent, which plainly betokened how weary he was of the subject. "By Vaughan?" said Brenda, "the lover of poor Norna, doubtless!--what sort of man was he, father?" "Why, much like other men, I fancy," answered the Udaller; "I never saw him in my life.--He kept company with the Scottish families at Kirkwall; and I with the good old Norse folk--Ah! if Norna had dwelt always amongst her own kin, and not kept company with her Scottish acquaintance, she would have known nothing of Vaughan, and things might have been otherwise--But then I should have known nothing of your blessed mother, Brenda--and that," he said, his large blue eyes shining with a tear, "would have saved me a short joy and a long sorrow." "Norna could but ill have supplied my mother's place to you, father, as a companion and a friend--that is, judging from all I have heard," said Brenda, with some hesitation. But Magnus, softened by recollections of his beloved wife, answered her with more indulgence than she expected. "I would have been content," he said, "to have wedded Norna at that time. It would have been the soldering of an old quarrel--the healing of an old sore. All our blood relations wished it, and, situated as I was, especially not having seen your blessed mother, I had little will to oppose their counsels. You must not judge of Norna or of me by such an appearance as we now present to you--She was young and beautiful, and I gamesome as a Highland buck, and little caring what haven I made for, having, as I thought, more than one under my lee. But Norna preferred this man Vaughan, and, as I told you before, it was, perhaps, the best kindness she could have done to me." "Ah, poor kinswoman!" said Brenda. "But believe you, father, in the high powers which she claims--in the mysterious vision of the dwarf--in the"---- She was interrupted in these questions by Magnus, to whom they were obviously displeasing. "I believe, Brenda," he said, "according to the belief of my forefathers--I pretend not to be a wiser man than they were in their time,--and they all believed that, in cases of great worldly distress, Providence opened the eyes of the mind, and afforded the sufferers a vision of futurity. It was but a trimming of the boat, with reverence,"--here he touched his hat reverentially; "and, after all the shifting of ballast, poor Norna is as heavily loaded in the bows as ever was an Orkneyman's yawl at the dog-fishing--she has more than affliction enough on board to balance whatever gifts she may have had in the midst of her calamity. They are as painful to her, poor soul, as a crown of thorns would be to her brows, though it were the badge of the empire of Denmark. And do not you, Brenda, seek to be wiser than your fathers. Your sister Minna, before she was so ill, had as much reverence for whatever was produced in Norse, as if it had been in the Pope's bull, which is all written in pure Latin." "Poor Norna!" repeated Brenda; "and her child--was it never recovered?" "What do I know of her child," said the Udaller, more gruffly than before, "except that she was very ill, both before and after the birth, though we kept her as merry as we could with pipe and harp, and so forth;--the child had come before its time into this bustling world, so it is likely it has been long dead.--But you know nothing of all these matters, Brenda; so get along for a foolish girl, and ask no more questions about what it does not become you to enquire into." So saying, the Udaller gave his sturdy little palfrey the spur, and cantering forward over rough and smooth, while the pony's accuracy and firmness of step put all difficulties of the path at secure defiance, he placed himself soon by the side of the melancholy Minna, and permitted her sister to have no farther share in his conversation than as it was addressed to them jointly. She could but comfort herself with the hope, that, as Minna's disease appeared to have its seat in the imagination, the remedies recommended by Norna might have some chance of being effectual, since, in all probability, they would be addressed to the same faculty. Their way had hitherto held chiefly over moss and moor, varied occasionally by the necessity of making a circuit around the heads of those long lagoons, called voes, which run up into and indent the country in such a manner, that, though the Mainland of Zetland may be thirty miles or more in length, there is, perhaps, no part of it which is more than three miles distant from the salt water. But they had now approached the north-western extremity of the isle, and travelled along the top of an immense ridge of rocks, which had for ages withstood the rage of the Northern Ocean, and of all the winds by which it is buffeted. At length exclaimed Magnus to his daughters, "There is Norna's dwelling!--Look up, Minna, my love; for if this does not make you laugh, nothing will.--Saw you ever any thing but an osprey that would have made such a nest for herself as that is?--By my namesake's bones, there is not the like of it that living thing ever dwelt in, (having no wings and the use of reason,) unless it chanced to be the Frawa-Stack off Papa, where the King's daughter of Norway was shut up to keep her from her lovers--and all to little purpose, if the tale be true;[16] for, maidens, I would have you to wot that it is hard to keep flax from the lowe."[17] FOOTNOTES: [14] It is worth while saying, that this motto, and the ascription of the beautiful ballad from which it is taken to the Right Honourable Lady Ann Lindsay, occasioned the ingenious authoress's acknowledgment of the ballad, of which the Editor, by her permission, published a small impression, inscribed to the Bannatyne Club. [15] A light-armed vessel of the seventeenth century, adapted for privateering, and much used by the Dutch. [16] The _Frawa-Stack_ or Maiden-Rock, an inaccessible cliff, divided by a narrow gulf from the Island of Papa, has on the summit some ruins, concerning which there is a legend similar to that of Danaë. [17] _Lowe_, flame. CHAPTER VII. Thrice from the cavern's darksome womb Her groaning voice arose; And come, my daughter, fearless come, And fearless tell thy woes! MEIKLE. The dwelling of Norna, though none but a native of Zetland, familiar, during his whole life, with every variety of rock-scenery, could have seen any thing ludicrous in this situation, was not unaptly compared by Magnus Troil to the eyry of the osprey, or sea-eagle. It was very small, and had been fabricated out of one of those dens which are called Burghs and Picts-houses in Zetland, and Duns on the mainland of Scotland and the Hebrides, and which seem to be the first effort at architecture--the connecting link betwixt a fox's hole in a cairn of loose stones, and an attempt to construct a human habitation out of the same materials, without the use of lime or cement of any kind,--without any timber, so far as can be seen from their remains,--without any knowledge of the arch or of the stair. Such as they are, however, the numerous remains of these dwellings--for there is one found on every headland, islet, or point of vantage, which could afford the inhabitants additional means of defence--tend to prove that the remote people by whom these Burghs were constructed, were a numerous race, and that the islands had then a much greater population, than, from other circumstances, we might have been led to anticipate. The Burgh of which we at present speak had been altered and repaired at a later period, probably by some petty despot, or sea-rover, who, tempted by the security of the situation, which occupied the whole of a projecting point of rock, and was divided from the mainland by a rent or chasm of some depth, had built some additions to it in the rudest style of Gothic defensive architecture;--had plastered the inside with lime and clay, and broken out windows for the admission of light and air; and, finally, by roofing it over, and dividing it into stories, by means of beams of wreck-wood, had converted the whole into a tower, resembling a pyramidical dovecot, formed by a double wall, still containing within its thickness that set of circular galleries, or concentric rings, which is proper to all the forts of this primitive construction, and which seem to have constituted the only shelter which they were originally qualified to afford to their shivering inhabitants.[18] This singular habitation, built out of the loose stones which lay scattered around, and exposed for ages to the vicissitudes of the elements, was as grey, weatherbeaten, and wasted, as the rock on which it was founded, and from which it could not easily be distinguished, so completely did it resemble in colour, and so little did it differ in regularity of shape, from a pinnacle or fragment of the cliff. Minna's habitual indifference to all that of late had passed around her, was for a moment suspended by the sight of an abode, which, at another and happier period of her life, would have attracted at once her curiosity and her wonder. Even now she seemed to feel interest as she gazed upon this singular retreat, and recollected it was that of certain misery and probable insanity, connected, as its inhabitant asserted, and Minna's faith admitted, with power over the elements, and the capacity of intercourse with the invisible world. "Our kinswoman," she muttered, "has chosen her dwelling well, with no more of earth than a sea-fowl might rest upon, and all around sightless tempests and raging waves. Despair and magical power could not have a fitter residence." Brenda, on the other hand, shuddered when she looked on the dwelling to which they were advancing, by a difficult, dangerous, and precarious path, which sometimes, to her great terror, approached to the verge of the precipice; so that, Zetlander as she was, and confident as she had reason to be, in the steadiness and sagacity of the sure-footed pony, she could scarce suppress an inclination to giddiness, especially at one point, when, being foremost of the party, and turning a sharp angle of the rock, her feet, as they projected from the side of the pony, hung for an instant sheer over the ledge of the precipice, so that there was nothing save empty space betwixt the sole of her shoe and the white foam of the vexed ocean, which dashed, howled, and foamed, five hundred feet below. What would have driven a maiden of another country into delirium, gave her but a momentary uneasiness, which was instantly lost in the hope that the impression which the scene appeared to make on her sister's imagination might be favourable to her cure. [Illustration] She could not help looking back to see how Minna should pass the point of peril, which she herself had just rounded; and could hear the strong voice of the Udaller, though to him such rough paths were familiar as the smooth sea-beach, call, in a tone of some anxiety, "Take heed, jarto,"[19] as Minna, with an eager look, dropped her bridle, and stretched forward her arms, and even her body, over the precipice, in the attitude of the wild swan, when balancing itself, and spreading its broad pinions, it prepares to launch from the cliff upon the bosom of the winds. Brenda felt, at that instant, a pang of unutterable terror, which left a strong impression on her nerves, even when relieved, as it instantly was, by her sister recovering herself and sitting upright on her saddle, the opportunity and temptation (if she felt it) passing away, as the quiet steady animal which supported her rounded the projecting angle, and turned its patient and firm step from the verge of the precipice. They now attained a more level and open space of ground, being the flat top of an isthmus of projecting rock, narrowing again towards a point where it was terminated by the chasm which separated the small peak, or _stack_, occupied by Norna's habitation, from the main ridge of cliff and precipice. This natural fosse, which seemed to have been the work of some convulsion of nature, was deep, dark, and irregular, narrower towards the bottom, which could not be distinctly seen, and widest at top, having the appearance as if that part of the cliff occupied by the building had been half rent away from the isthmus which it terminated,--an idea favoured by the angle at which it seemed to recede from the land, and lean towards the sea, with the building which crowned it. This angle of projection was so considerable, that it required recollection to dispel the idea that the rock, so much removed from the perpendicular, was about to precipitate itself seaward, with its old tower: and a timorous person would have been afraid to put foot upon it, lest an addition of weight, so inconsiderable as that of the human body, should hasten a catastrophe which seemed at every instant impending. Without troubling himself about such fantasies, the Udaller rode towards the tower, and there dismounting along with his daughters, gave the ponies in charge to one of their domestics, with directions to disencumber them of their burdens, and turn them out for rest and refreshment upon the nearest heath. This done, they approached the gate, which seemed formerly to have been connected with the land by a rude drawbridge, some of the apparatus of which was still visible. But the rest had been long demolished, and was replaced by a stationary footbridge, formed of barrel-staves covered with turf, very narrow and ledgeless, and supported by a sort of arch, constructed out of the jaw-bones of the whale. Along this "brigg of dread" the Udaller stepped with his usual portly majesty of stride, which threatened its demolition and his own at the same time; his daughters trode more lightly and more safely after him, and the whole party stood before the low and rugged portal of Norna's habitation. "If she should be abroad after all," said Magnus, as he plied the black oaken door with repeated blows;--"but if so, we will at least lie by a day for her return, and make Nick Strumpfer pay the demurrage in bland and brandy." As he spoke, the door opened, and displayed, to the alarm of Brenda, and the surprise of Minna herself, a square-made dwarf, about four feet five inches high, with a head of most portentous size, and features correspondent--namely, a huge mouth, a tremendous nose, with large black nostrils, which seemed to have been slit upwards, blubber lips of an unconscionable size, and huge wall-eyes, with which he leared, sneered, grinned, and goggled on the Udaller as an old acquaintance, without uttering a single word. The young women could hardly persuade themselves that they did not see before their eyes the very demon Trolld, who made such a distinguished figure in Norna's legend. Their father went on addressing this uncouth apparition in terms of such condescending friendship as the better sort apply to their inferiors, when they wish, for any immediate purpose, to conciliate or coax them,--a tone, by the by, which generally contains, in its very familiarity, as much offence as the more direct assumption of distance and superiority. "Ha, Nick! honest Nick!" said the Udaller, "here you are, lively and lovely as Saint Nicholas your namesake, when he is carved with an axe for the headpiece of a Dutch dogger. How dost thou do, Nick, or Pacolet, if you like that better? Nicholas, here are my two daughters, nearly as handsome as thyself thou seest." Nick grinned, and did a clumsy obeisance by way of courtesy, but kept his broad misshapen person firmly placed in the doorway. "Daughters," continued the Udaller, who seemed to have his reasons for speaking this Cerberus fair, at least according to his own notions of propitiation,--"this is Nick Strumpfer, maidens, whom his mistress calls Pacolet, being a light-limbed dwarf, as you see, like him that wont to fly about, like a _Scourie_, on his wooden hobbyhorse, in the old storybook of Valentine and Orson, that you, Minna, used to read whilst you were a child. I assure you he can keep his mistress's counsel, and never told one of her secrets in his life--ha, ha, ha!" The ugly dwarf grinned ten times wider than before, and showed the meaning of the Udaller's jest, by opening his immense jaws, and throwing back his head, so as to discover, that, in the immense cavity of his mouth, there only remained the small shrivelled remnant of a tongue, capable, perhaps, of assisting him in swallowing his food, but unequal to the formation of articulate sounds. Whether this organ had been curtailed by cruelty, or injured by disease, it was impossible to guess; but that the unfortunate being had not been originally dumb, was evident from his retaining the sense of hearing. Having made this horrible exhibition, he repaid the Udaller's mirth with a loud, horrid, and discordant laugh, which had something in it the more hideous that his mirth seemed to be excited by his own misery. The sisters looked on each other in silence and fear, and even the Udaller appeared disconcerted. "And how now?" he proceeded, after a minute's pause. "When didst thou wash that throat of thine, that is about the width of the Pentland Frith, with a cup of brandy? Ha, Nick! I have that with me which is sound stuff, boy, ha!" The dwarf bent his beetle-brows, shook his misshapen head, and made a quick sharp indication, throwing his right hand up to his shoulder with the thumb pointed backwards. "What! my kinswoman," said the Udaller, comprehending the signal, "will be angry? Well, shalt have a flask to carouse when she is from home, old acquaintance;--lips and throats may swallow though they cannot speak." Pacolet grinned a grim assent. "And now," said the Udaller, "stand out of the way, Pacolet, and let me carry my daughters to see their kinswoman. By the bones of Saint Magnus, it shall be a good turn in thy way!--nay, never shake thy head, man; for if thy mistress be at home, see her we will." The dwarf again intimated the impossibility of their being admitted, partly by signs, partly by mumbling some uncouth and most disagreeable sounds, and the Udaller's mood began to arise. "Tittle tattle, man!" said he; "trouble not me with thy gibberish, but stand out of the way, and the blame, if there be any, shall rest with me." So saying, Magnus Troil laid his sturdy hand upon the collar of the recusant dwarf's jacket of blue wadmaal, and, with a strong, but not a violent grasp, removed him from the doorway, pushed him gently aside, and entered, followed by his two daughters, whom a sense of apprehension, arising out of all which they saw and heard, kept very close to him. A crooked and dusky passage through which Magnus led the way, was dimly enlightened by a shot-hole, communicating with the interior of the building, and originally intended, doubtless, to command the entrance by a hagbut or culverin. As they approached nearer, for they walked slowly and with hesitation, the light, imperfect as it was, was suddenly obscured; and, on looking upward to discern the cause, Brenda was startled to observe the pale and obscurely-seen countenance of Norna gazing downward upon them, without speaking a word. There was nothing extraordinary in this, as the mistress of the mansion might be naturally enough looking out to see what guests were thus suddenly and unceremoniously intruding themselves on her presence. Still, however, the natural paleness of her features, exaggerated by the light in which they were at present exhibited,--the immovable sternness of her look, which showed neither kindness nor courtesy of civil reception,--her dead silence, and the singular appearance of every thing about her dwelling, augmented the dismay which Brenda had already conceived. Magnus Troil and Minna had walked slowly forward, without observing the apparition of their singular hostess. FOOTNOTES: [18] Note III.--The Pictish Burgh. [19] _Jarto_, my dear. CHAPTER VIII. The witch then raised her wither'd arm, And waved her wand on high, And, while she spoke the mutter'd charm, Dark lightning fill'd her eye. MEIKLE. "This should be the stair," said the Udaller, blundering in the dark against some steps of irregular ascent--"This should be the stair, unless my memory greatly fail me; ay, and there she sits," he added, pausing at a half-open door, "with all her tackle about her as usual, and as busy, doubtless, as the devil in a gale of wind." As he made this irreverent comparison, he entered, followed by his daughters, the darkened apartment in which Norna was seated, amidst a confused collection of books of various languages, parchment scrolls, tablets and stones inscribed with the straight and angular characters of the Runic alphabet, and similar articles, which the vulgar might have connected with the exercise of the forbidden arts. There were also lying in the chamber, or hung over the rude and ill-contrived chimney, an old shirt of mail, with the headpiece, battle-axe, and lance, which had once belonged to it; and on a shelf were disposed, in great order, several of those curious stone-axes, formed of green granite, which are often found in those islands, where they are called thunderbolts by the common people, who usually preserve them as a charm of security against the effects of lightning. There was, moreover, to be seen amid the strange collection, a stone sacrificial knife, used perhaps for immolating human victims, and one or two of the brazen implements called Celts, the purpose of which has troubled the repose of so many antiquaries. A variety of other articles, some of which had neither name nor were capable of description, lay in confusion about the apartment; and in one corner, on a quantity of withered sea-weed, reposed what seemed, at first view, to be a large unshapely dog, but, when seen more closely, proved to be a tame seal, which it had been Norna's amusement to domesticate. This uncouth favourite bristled up in its corner, upon the arrival of so many strangers, with an alertness similar to that which a terrestrial dog would have displayed on a similar occasion; but Norna remained motionless, seated behind a table of rough granite, propped up by misshapen feet of the same material, which, besides the old book with which she seemed to be busied, sustained a cake of the coarse unleavened bread, three parts oatmeal, and one the sawdust of fir, which is used by the poor peasants of Norway, beside which stood a jar of water. Magnus Troil remained a minute in silence gazing upon his kinswoman, while the singularity of her mansion inspired Brenda with much fear, and changed, though but for a moment, the melancholy and abstracted mood of Minna, into a feeling of interest not unmixed with awe. The silence was interrupted by the Udaller, who, unwilling on the one hand to give his kinswoman offence, and desirous on the other to show that he was not daunted by a reception so singular, opened the conversation thus:-- "I give you good e'en, cousin Norna--my daughters and I have come far to see you." Norna raised her eyes from her volume, looked full at her visitors, then let them quietly sit down on the leaf with which she seemed to be engaged. "Nay, cousin," said Magnus, "take your own time--our business with you can wait your leisure.--See here, Minna, what a fair prospect here is of the cape, scarce a quarter of a mile off! you may see the billows breaking on it topmast high. Our kinswoman has got a pretty seal, too--Here, sealchie, my man, whew, whew!" The seal took no further notice of the Udaller's advances to acquaintance, than by uttering a low growl. "He is not so well trained," continued the Udaller, affecting an air of ease and unconcern, "as Peter MacRaw's, the old piper of Stornoway, who had a seal that flapped its tail to the tune of _Caberfae_, and acknowledged no other whatever.[20]--Well, cousin," he concluded, observing that Norna closed her book, "are you going to give us a welcome at last, or must we go farther than our blood-relation's house to seek one, and that when the evening is wearing late apace?" "Ye dull and hard-hearted generation, as deaf as the adder to the voice of the charmer," answered Norna, addressing them, "why come ye to me? You have slighted every warning I could give of the coming harm, and now that it hath come upon you, ye seek my counsel when it can avail you nothing." "Look you, kinswoman," said the Udaller, with his usual frankness, and boldness of manner and accent, "I must needs tell you that your courtesy is something of the coarsest and the coldest. I cannot say that I ever saw an adder, in regard there are none in these parts; but touching my own thoughts of what such a thing may be, it cannot be termed a suitable comparison to me or to my daughters, and that I would have you to know. For old acquaintance, and certain other reasons, I do not leave your house upon the instant; but as I came hither in all kindness and civility, so I pray you to receive me with the like, otherwise we will depart, and leave shame on your inhospitable threshold." "How," said Norna, "dare you use such bold language in the house of one from whom all men, from whom you yourself, come to solicit counsel and aid? They who speak to the Reimkennar, must lower their voice to her before whom winds and waves hush both blast and billow." "Blast and billow may hush themselves if they will," replied the peremptory Udaller, "but that will not I. I speak in the house of my friend as in my own, and strike sail to none." "And hope ye," said Norna, "by this rudeness to compel me to answer to your interrogatories?" "Kinswoman," replied Magnus Troil, "I know not so much as you of the old Norse sagas; but this I know, that when kempies were wont, long since, to seek the habitations of the gall-dragons and spae-women, they came with their axes on their shoulders, and their good swords drawn in their hands, and compelled the power whom they invoked to listen to and to answer them, ay were it Odin himself." "Kinsman," said Norna, arising from her seat, and coming forward, "thou hast spoken well, and in good time for thyself and thy daughters; for hadst thou turned from my threshold without extorting an answer, morning's sun had never again shone upon you. The spirits who serve me are jealous, and will not be employed in aught that may benefit humanity, unless their service is commanded by the undaunted importunity of the brave and the free. And now speak, what wouldst thou have of me?" "My daughter's health," replied Magnus, "which no remedies have been able to restore." "Thy daughter's health?" answered Norna; "and what is the maiden's ailment?" "The physician," said Troil, "must name the disease. All that I can tell thee of it is"---- "Be silent," said Norna, interrupting him, "I know all thou canst tell me, and more than thou thyself knowest. Sit down, all of you--and thou, maiden," she said, addressing Minna, "sit thou in that chair," pointing to the place she had just left, "once the seat of Giervada, at whose voice the stars hid their beams, and the moon herself grew pale." Minna moved with slow and tremulous step towards the rude seat thus indicated to her. It was composed of stone, formed into some semblance of a chair by the rough and unskilful hand of some ancient Gothic artist. Brenda, creeping as close as possible to her father, seated herself along with him upon a bench at some distance from Minna, and kept her eyes, with a mixture of fear, pity, and anxiety, closely fixed upon her. It would be difficult altogether to decipher the emotions by which this amiable and affectionate girl was agitated at the moment. Deficient in her sister's predominating quality of high imagination, and little credulous, of course, to the marvellous, she could not but entertain some vague and indefinite fears on her own account, concerning the nature of the scene which was soon to take place. But these were in a manner swallowed up in her apprehensions on the score of her sister, who, with a frame so much weakened, spirits so much exhausted, and a mind so susceptible of the impressions which all around her was calculated to excite, now sat pensively resigned to the agency of one, whose treatment might produce the most baneful effects upon such a subject. Brenda gazed at Minna, who sat in that rude chair of dark stone, her finely formed shape and limbs making the strongest contrast with its ponderous and irregular angles, her cheek and lips as pale as clay, and her eyes turned upward, and lighted with the mixture of resignation and excited enthusiasm, which belonged to her disease and her character. The younger sister then looked on Norna, who muttered to herself in a low monotonous manner, as, gliding from one place to another, she collected different articles, which she placed one by one on the table. And lastly, Brenda looked anxiously to her father, to gather, if possible, from his countenance, whether he entertained any part of her own fears for the consequences of the scene which was to ensue, considering the state of Minna's health and spirits. But Magnus Troil seemed to have no such apprehensions; he viewed with stern composure Norna's preparations, and appeared to wait the event with the composure of one, who, confiding in the skill of a medical artist, sees him preparing to enter upon some important and painful operation, in the issue of which he is interested by friendship or by affection. Norna, meanwhile, went onward with her preparations, until she had placed on the stone table a variety of miscellaneous articles, and among the rest, a small chafing-dish full of charcoal, a crucible, and a piece of thin sheet-lead. She then spoke aloud--"It is well that I was aware of your coming hither--ay, long before you yourself had resolved it--how should I else have been prepared for that which is now to be done?--Maiden," she continued, addressing Minna, "where lies thy pain?" The patient answered, by pressing her hand to the left side of her bosom. "Even so," replied Norna, "even so--'tis the site of weal or woe.--And you, her father and her sister, think not this the idle speech of one who talks by guess--if I can tell thee ill, it may be that I shall be able to render that less severe, which may not, by any aid, be wholly amended.--The heart--ay, the heart--touch that, and the eye grows dim, the pulse fails, the wholesome stream of our blood is choked and troubled, our limbs decay like sapless sea-weed in a summer's sun; our better views of existence are past and gone; what remains is the dream of lost happiness, or the fear of inevitable evil. But the Reimkennar must to her work--well it is that I have prepared the means." She threw off her long dark-coloured mantle, and stood before them in her short jacket of light-blue wadmaal, with its skirt of the same stuff, fancifully embroidered with black velvet, and bound at the waist with a chain or girdle of silver, formed into singular devices. Norna next undid the fillet which bound her grizzled hair, and shaking her head wildly, caused it to fall in dishevelled abundance over her face and around her shoulders, so as almost entirely to hide her features. She then placed a small crucible on the chafing-dish already mentioned,--dropped a few drops from a vial on the charcoal below,--pointed towards it her wrinkled forefinger, which she had previously moistened with liquid from another small bottle, and said with a deep voice, "Fire, do thy duty;"--and the words were no sooner spoken, than, probably by some chemical combination of which the spectators were not aware, the charcoal which was under the crucible became slowly ignited; while Norna, as if impatient of the delay, threw hastily back her disordered tresses, and, while her features reflected the sparkles and red light of the fire, and her eyes flashed from amongst her hair like those of a wild animal from its cover, blew fiercely till the whole was in an intense glow. She paused a moment from her toil, and muttering that the elemental spirit must be thanked, recited, in her usual monotonous, yet wild mode of chanting, the following verses:-- "Thou so needful, yet so dread, With cloudy crest, and wing of red; Thou, without whose genial breath The North would sleep the sleep of death; Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, Yet hurl'st proud palaces to earth,-- Brightest, keenest of the Powers, Which form and rule this world of ours, With my rhyme of Runic, I Thank thee for thy agency." She then severed a portion from the small mass of sheet-lead which lay upon the table, and, placing it in the crucible, subjected it to the action of the lighted charcoal, and, as it melted, she sung,-- "Old Reimkennar, to thy art Mother Hertha sends her part; She, whose gracious bounty gives Needful food for all that lives. From the deep mine of the North, Came the mystic metal forth, Doom'd, amidst disjointed stones, Long to cere a champion's bones, Disinhumed my charms to aid-- Mother Earth, my thanks are paid." She then poured out some water from the jar into a large cup, or goblet, and sung once more, as she slowly stirred it round with the end of her staff:-- "Girdle of our islands dear, Element of Water, hear Thou whose power can overwhelm Broken mounds and ruin'd realm On the lowly Belgian strand; All thy fiercest rage can never Of our soil a furlong sever From our rock-defended land; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Norna's art." She then, with a pair of pincers, removed the crucible from the chafing-dish, and poured the lead, now entirely melted, into the bowl of water, repeating at the same time,-- "Elements, each other greeting, Gifts and powers attend your meeting!" The melted lead, spattering as it fell into the water, formed, of course, the usual combination of irregular forms which is familiar to all who in childhood have made the experiment, and from which, according to our childish fancy, we may have selected portions bearing some resemblance to domestic articles--the tools of mechanics, or the like. Norna seemed to busy herself in some such researches, for she examined the mass of lead with scrupulous attention, and detached it into different portions, without apparently being able to find a fragment in the form which she desired. At length she again muttered, rather as speaking to herself than to her guests, "He, the Viewless, will not be omitted,--he will have his tribute even in the work to which he gives nothing.--Stern compeller of the clouds, thou also shalt hear the voice of the Reimkennar." Thus speaking, Norna once more threw the lead into the crucible, where, hissing and spattering as the wet metal touched the sides of the red-hot vessel, it was soon again reduced into a state of fusion. The sibyl meantime turned to a corner of the apartment, and opening suddenly a window which looked to the north-west, let in the fitful radiance of the sun, now lying almost level upon a great mass of red clouds, which, boding future tempest, occupied the edge of the horizon, and seemed to brood over the billows of the boundless sea. Turning to this quarter, from which a low hollow moaning breeze then blew, Norna addressed the Spirit of the Winds, in tones which seemed to resemble his own:-- "Thou, that over billows dark Safely send'st the fisher's bark,-- Giving him a path and motion Through the wilderness of ocean; Thou, that when the billows brave ye, O'er the shelves canst drive the navy,-- Did'st thou chafe as one neglected, While thy brethren were respected? To appease thee, see, I tear This full grasp of grizzled hair; Oft thy breath hath through it sung, Softening to my magic tongue,-- Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly Through the wide expanse of sky, 'Mid the countless swarms to sail Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale; Take thy portion and rejoice,-- Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!" Norna accompanied these words with the action which they described, tearing a handful of hair with vehemence from her head, and strewing it upon the wind as she continued her recitation. She then shut the casement, and again involved the chamber in the dubious twilight, which best suited her character and occupation. The melted lead was once more emptied into the water, and the various whimsical conformations which it received from the operation were examined with great care by the sibyl, who at length seemed to intimate, by voice and gesture, that her spell had been successful. She selected from the fused metal a piece about the size of a small nut, bearing in shape a close resemblance to that of the human heart, and, approaching Minna, again spoke in song:-- "She who sits by haunted well, Is subject to the Nixie's spell; She who walks on lonely beach To the Mermaid's charmed speech; She who walks round ring of green, Offends the peevish Fairy Queen; And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave, A weary weird of woe shall have. "By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more: And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill A source that's more deep and more mystical still." Minna, whose attention had been latterly something disturbed by reflections on her own secret sorrow, now suddenly recalled it, and looked eagerly on Norna as if she expected to learn from her rhymes something of deep interest. The northern sibyl, meanwhile, proceeded to pierce the piece of lead, which bore the form of a heart, and to fix in it a piece of gold wire, by which it might be attached to a chain or necklace. She then proceeded in her rhyme,-- "Thou art within a demon's hold, More wise than Heims, more strong than Trolld; No siren sings so sweet as he,-- No fay springs lighter on the lea; No elfin power hath half the art To soothe, to move, to wring the heart,-- Life-blood from the cheek to drain, Drench the eye, and dry the vein. Maiden, ere we farther go, Dost thou note me, ay or no?" Minna replied in the same rhythmical manner, which, in jest and earnest, was frequently used by the ancient Scandinavians,-- "I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign; Speak on with the riddle--to read it be mine." "Now, Heaven and every saint be praised!" said Magnus; "they are the first words to the purpose which she hath spoken these many days." "And they are the last which she shall speak for many a month," said Norna, incensed at the interruption, "if you again break the progress of my spell. Turn your faces to the wall, and look not hitherward again, under penalty of my severe displeasure. You, Magnus Troil, from hard-hearted audacity of spirit, and you, Brenda, from wanton and idle disbelief in that which is beyond your bounded comprehension, are unworthy to look on this mystic work; and the glance of your eyes mingles with, and weakens, the spell; for the powers cannot brook distrust." Unaccustomed to be addressed in a tone so peremptory, Magnus would have made some angry reply; but reflecting that the health of Minna was at stake, and considering that she who spoke was a woman of many sorrows, he suppressed his anger, bowed his head, shrugged his shoulders, assumed the prescribed posture, averting his head from the table, and turning towards the wall. Brenda did the same, on receiving a sign from her father, and both remained profoundly silent. Norna then addressed Minna once more,-- "Mark me! for the word I speak Shall bring the colour to thy cheek. This leaden heart, so light of cost, The symbol of a treasure lost, Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may cease, When crimson foot meets crimson hand In the Martyrs' Aisle, and in Orkney-land." Minna coloured deeply at the last couplet, intimating, as she failed not to interpret it, that Norna was completely acquainted with the secret cause of her sorrow. The same conviction led the maiden to hope in the favourable issue, which the sibyl seemed to prophesy; and not venturing to express her feelings in any manner more intelligible, she pressed Norna's withered hand with all the warmth of affection, first to her breast and then to her bosom, bedewing it at the same time with her tears. With more of human feeling than she usually exhibited, Norna extricated her hand from the grasp of the poor girl, whose tears now flowed freely, and then, with more tenderness of manner than she had yet shown, she knotted the leaden heart to a chain of gold, and hung it around Minna's neck, singing, as she performed that last branch of the spell,-- "Be patient, be patient, for Patience hath power To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower; A fairy gift you best may hold In a chain of fairy gold; The chain and the gift are each a true token, That not without warrant old Norna has spoken; But thy nearest and dearest must never behold them, Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them." The verses being concluded, Norna carefully arranged the chain around her patient's neck so as to hide it in her bosom, and thus ended the spell--a spell which, at the moment I record these incidents, it is known, has been lately practised in Zetland, where any decline of health, without apparent cause, is imputed by the lower orders to a demon having stolen the heart from the body of the patient, and where the experiment of supplying the deprivation by a leaden one, prepared in the manner described, has been resorted to within these few years. In a metaphorical sense, the disease may be considered as a general one in all parts of the world; but, as this simple and original remedy is peculiar to the isles of Thule, it were unpardonable not to preserve it at length, in a narrative connected with Scottish antiquities.[21] A second time Norna reminded her patient, that if she showed, or spoke of, the fairy gifts, their virtue would be lost--a belief so common as to be received into the superstitions of all nations. Lastly, unbuttoning the collar which she had just fastened, she showed her a link of the gold chain, which Minna instantly recognised as that formerly given by Norna to Mordaunt Mertoun. This seemed to intimate he was yet alive, and under Norna's protection; and she gazed on her with the most eager curiosity. But the sibyl imposed her finger on her lips in token of silence, and a second time involved the chain in those folds which modestly and closely veiled one of the most beautiful, as well as one of the kindest, bosoms in the world. Norna then extinguished the lighted charcoal, and, as the water hissed upon the glowing embers, commanded Magnus and Brenda to look around, and behold her task accomplished. FOOTNOTES: [20] The MacRaws were followers of the MacKenzies, whose chief has the name of Caberfae, or Buckshead, from the cognisance borne on his standards. Unquestionably the worthy piper trained the seal on the same principle of respect to the clan-term which I have heard has been taught to dogs, who, unused to any other air, dance after their fashion to the tune of Caberfae. [21] The spells described in this chapter are not altogether imaginary. By this mode of pouring lead into water, and selecting the part which chances to assume a resemblance to the human heart, which must be worn by the patient around her or his neck, the sage persons of Zetland pretend to cure the fatal disorder called the loss of a heart. CHAPTER IX. See yonder woman, whom our swains revere, And dread in secret, while they take her counsel When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross dame shall die; Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, And how the pestilent murrain may be cured.-- This sage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend; Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, And pay enquirers with the coin they gave her. _Old Play._ It seemed as if Norna had indeed full right to claim the gratitude of the Udaller for the improved condition of his daughter's health. She once more threw open the window, and Minna, drying her eyes and advancing with affectionate confidence, threw herself on her father's neck, and asked his forgiveness for the trouble she had of late occasioned to him. It is unnecessary to add, that this was at once granted, with a full, though rough burst of parental tenderness, and as many close embraces as if his child had been just rescued from the jaws of death. When Magnus had dismissed Minna from his arms, to throw herself into those of her sister, and express to her, rather by kisses and tears than in words, the regret she entertained for her late wayward conduct, the Udaller thought proper, in the meantime, to pay his thanks to their hostess, whose skill had proved so efficacious. But scarce had he come out with, "Much respected kinswoman, I am but a plain old Norseman,"--when she interrupted him, by pressing her finger on her lips. "There are those around us," she said, "who must hear no mortal voice, witness no sacrifice to mortal feelings--there are times when they mutiny even against me, their sovereign mistress, because I am still shrouded in the flesh of humanity. Fear, therefore, and be silent. I, whose deeds have raised me from the low-sheltered valley of life, where dwell its social wants and common charities;--I, who have bereft the Giver of the Gift which he gave, and stand alone on a cliff of immeasurable height, detached from earth, save from the small portion that supports my miserable tread--I alone am fit to cope with those sullen mates. Fear not, therefore, but yet be not too bold, and let this night to you be one of fasting and of prayer." If the Udaller had not, before the commencement of the operation, been disposed to dispute the commands of the sibyl, it may be well believed he was less so now, that it had terminated to all appearance so fortunately. So he sat down in silence, and seized upon a volume which lay near him as a sort of desperate effort to divert ennui, for on no other occasion had Magnus been known to have recourse to a book for that purpose. It chanced to be a book much to his mind, being the well-known work of Olaus Magnus, upon the manners of the ancient Northern nations. The book is unluckily in the Latin language, and the Danske or Dutch were, either of them, much more familiar to the Udaller. But then it was the fine edition published in 1555, which contains representations of the war-chariots, fishing exploits, warlike exercises, and domestic employments of the Scandinavians, executed on copper-plates; and thus the information which the work refused to the understanding, was addressed to the eye, which, as is well known both to old and young, answers the purpose of amusement as well, if not better. Meanwhile the two sisters, pressed as close to each other as two flowers on the same stalk, sat with their arms reciprocally passed over each other's shoulder, as if they feared some new and unforeseen cause of coldness was about to separate them, and interrupt the sister-like harmony which had been but just restored. Norna sat opposite to them, sometimes revolving the large parchment volume with which they had found her employed at their entrance, and sometimes gazing on the sisters with a fixed look, in which an interest of a kind unusually tender, seemed occasionally to disturb the stern and rigorous solemnity of her countenance. All was still and silent as death, and the subsiding emotions of Brenda had not yet permitted her to wonder whether the remaining hours of the evening were to be passed in the same manner, when the scene of tranquillity was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the dwarf Pacolet, or, as the Udaller called him, Nicholas Strumpfer. Norna darted an angry glance on the intruder, who seemed to deprecate her resentment by holding up his hands and uttering a babbling sound; then, instantly resorting to his usual mode of conversation, he expressed himself by a variety of signs made rapidly upon his fingers, and as rapidly answered by his mistress, so that the young women, who had never heard of such an art, and now saw it practised by two beings so singular, almost conceived their mutual intelligence the work of enchantment. When they had ceased their intercourse, Norna turned to Magnus Troil with much haughtiness, and said, "How, my kinsman? have you so far forgot yourself, as to bring earthly food into the house of the Reimkennar, and make preparations in the dwelling of Power and of Despair, for refection, and wassail, and revelry?--Speak not--answer not," she said; "the duration of the cure which was wrought even now, depends on your silence and obedience--bandy but a single look or word with me, and the latter condition of that maiden shall be worse than the first!" This threat was an effectual charm upon the tongue of the Udaller, though he longed to indulge it in vindication of his conduct. "Follow me, all of you," said Norna, striding to the door of the apartment, "and see that no one looks backwards--we leave not this apartment empty, though we, the children of mortality, be removed from it." She went out, and the Udaller signed to his daughters to follow, and to obey her injunctions. The sibyl moved swifter than her guests down the rude descent, (such it might rather be termed, than a proper staircase,) which led to the lower apartment. Magnus and his daughters, when they entered the chamber, found their own attendants aghast at the presence and proceedings of Norna of the Fitful-head. They had been previously employed in arranging the provisions which they had brought along with them, so as to present a comfortable cold meal, as soon as the appetite of the Udaller, which was as regular as the return of tide, should induce him to desire some refreshment; and now they stood staring in fear and surprise, while Norna, seizing upon one article after another, and well supported by the zealous activity of Pacolet, flung their whole preparations out of the rude aperture which served for a window, and over the cliff, from which the ancient Burgh arose, into the ocean, which raged and foamed beneath. _Vifda_, (dried beef,) hams, and pickled pork, flew after each other into empty space, smoked geese were restored to the air, and cured fish to the sea, their native elements indeed, but which they were no longer capable of traversing; and the devastation proceeded so rapidly, that the Udaller could scarce secure from the wreck his silver drinking cup; while the large leathern flask of brandy, which was destined to supply his favourite beverage, was sent to follow the rest of the supper, by the hands of Pacolet, who regarded, at the same time, the disappointed Udaller with a malicious grin, as if, notwithstanding his own natural taste for the liquor, he enjoyed the disappointment and surprise of Magnus Troil still more than he would have relished sharing his enjoyment. The destruction of the brandy flask exhausted the patience of Magnus, who roared out, in a tone of no small displeasure, "Why, kinswoman, this is wasteful madness--where, and on what, would you have us sup?" "Where you will," answered Norna, "and on what you will--but not in my dwelling, and not on the food with which you have profaned it. Vex my spirit no more, but begone every one of you! You have been here too long for my good, perhaps for your own." "How, kinswoman," said Magnus, "would you make outcasts of us at this time of night, when even a Scotchman would not turn a stranger from the door?--Bethink you, dame, it is shame on our lineage for ever, if this squall of yours should force us to slip cables, and go to sea so scantily provided." "Be silent, and depart," said Norna; "let it suffice you have got that for which you came. I have no harbourage for mortal guests, no provision to relieve human wants. There is beneath the cliff, a beach of the finest sand, a stream of water as pure as the well of Kildinguie, and the rocks bear dulse as wholesome as that of Guiodin; and well you wot, that the well of Kildinguie and the dulse of Guiodin will cure all maladies save Black Death."[22] "And well I wot," said the Udaller, "that I would eat corrupted sea-weeds like a starling, or salted seal's flesh like the men of Burraforth, or wilks, buckies, and lampits, like the poor sneaks of Stroma, rather than break wheat bread and drink red wine in a house where it is begrudged me.--And yet," he said, checking himself, "I am wrong, very wrong, my cousin, to speak thus to you, and I should rather thank you for what you have done, than upbraid you for following your own ways. But I see you are impatient--we will be all under way presently.--And you, ye knaves," addressing his servants, "that were in such hurry with your service before it was lacked, get out of doors with you presently, and manage to catch the ponies; for I see we must make for another harbour to-night, if we would not sleep with an empty stomach, and on a hard bed." The domestics of Magnus, already sufficiently alarmed at the violence of Norna's conduct, scarce waited the imperious command of their master to evacuate her dwelling with all dispatch; and the Udaller, with a daughter on each arm, was in the act of following them, when Norna said emphatically, "Stop!" They obeyed, and again turned towards her. She held out her hand to Magnus, which the placable Udaller instantly folded in his own ample palm. "Magnus," she said, "we part by necessity, but, I trust, not in anger?" "Surely not, cousin," said the warm-hearted Udaller, wellnigh stammering in his hasty disclamation of all unkindness,--"most assuredly not. I never bear ill-will to any one, much less to one of my own blood, and who has piloted me with her advice through many a rough tide, as I would pilot a boat betwixt Swona and Stroma, through all the waws, wells, and swelchies of the Pentland Frith." "Enough," said Norna, "and now farewell, with such a blessing as I dare bestow--not a word more!--Maidens," she added, "draw near, and let me kiss your brows." The sibyl was obeyed by Minna with awe, and by Brenda with fear; the one overmastered by the warmth of her imagination, the other by the natural timidity of her constitution. Norna then dismissed them, and in two minutes afterwards they found themselves beyond the bridge, and standing upon the rocky platform in front of the ancient Pictish Burgh, which it was the pleasure of this sequestered female to inhabit. The night, for it was now fallen, was unusually serene. A bright twilight, which glimmered far over the surface of the sea, supplied the brief absence of the summer's sun; and the waves seemed to sleep under its influence, so faint and slumberous was the sound with which one after another rolled on and burst against the foot of the cliff on which they stood. In front of them stood the rugged fortress, seeming, in the uniform greyness of the atmosphere, as aged, as shapeless, and as massive, as the rock on which it was founded. There was neither sight nor sound that indicated human habitation, save that from one rude shot-hole glimmered the flame of the feeble lamp by which the sibyl was probably pursuing her mystical and nocturnal studies, shooting upon the twilight, in which it was soon lost and confounded, a single line of tiny light; bearing the same proportion to that of the atmosphere, as the aged woman and her serf, the sole inhabitants of that desert, did to the solitude with which they were surrounded. For several minutes, the party, thus suddenly and unexpectedly expelled from the shelter where they had reckoned upon spending the night, stood in silence, each wrapt in their own separate reflections. Minna, her thoughts fixed on the mystical consolation which she had received, in vain endeavoured to extract from the words of Norna a more distinct and intelligible meaning; and the Udaller had not yet recovered his surprise at the extrusion to which he had been thus whimsically subjected, under circumstances that prohibited him from resenting as an insult, treatment, which, in all other respects, was so shocking to the genial hospitality of his nature, that he still felt like one disposed to be angry, if he but knew how to set about it. Brenda was the first who brought matters to a point, by asking whither they were to go, and how they were to spend the night? The question, which was asked in a tone, that, amidst its simplicity, had something dolorous in it, entirely changed the train of her father's ideas; and the unexpected perplexity of their situation now striking him in a comic point of view, he laughed till his very eyes ran over, while every rock around him rang, and the sleeping sea-fowl were startled from their repose, by the loud, hearty explosions of his obstreperous hilarity. The Udaller's daughters, eagerly representing to their father the risk of displeasing Norna by this unlimited indulgence of his mirth, united their efforts to drag him to a farther distance from her dwelling. Magnus, yielding to their strength, which, feeble as it was, his own fit of laughter rendered him incapable of resisting, suffered himself to be pulled to a considerable distance from the Burgh, and then escaping from their hands, and sitting down, or rather suffering himself to drop, upon a large stone which lay conveniently by the wayside, he again laughed so long and lustily, that his vexed and anxious daughters became afraid that there was something more than natural in these repeated convulsions. At length his mirth exhausted both itself and the Udaller's strength. He groaned heavily, wiped his eyes, and said, not without feeling some desire to renew his obstreperous cachinnation, "Now, by the bones of Saint Magnus, my ancestor and namesake, one would imagine that being turned out of doors, at this time of night, was nothing short of an absolutely exquisite jest; for I have shaken my sides at it till they ache. There we sat, made snug for the night, and I made as sure of a good supper and a can as ever I had been of either,--and here we are all taken aback! and then poor Brenda's doleful voice, and melancholy question, of 'What is to be done, and where are we to sleep?' In good faith, unless one of those knaves, who must needs torment the poor woman by their trencher-work before it was wanted, can make amends by telling us of some snug port under our lee, we have no other course for it but to steer through the twilight on the bearing of Burgh-Westra, and rough it out as well as we can by the way. I am sorry but for you, girls; for many a cruize have I been upon when we were on shorter allowance than we are like to have now.--I would I had but secured a morsel for you, and a drop for myself; and then there had been but little to complain of." Both sisters hastened to assure the Udaller that they felt not the least occasion for food. "Why, that is well," said Magnus: "and so being the case, I will not complain of my own appetite, though it is sharper than convenient. And the rascal, Nicholas Strumpfer,--what a leer the villain gave me as he started the good Nantz into the salt-water! He grinned, the knave, like a seal on a skerry.--Had it not been for vexing my poor kinswoman Norna, I would have sent his misbegotten body, and misshapen jolterhead, after my bonny flask, as sure as Saint Magnus lies at Kirkwall!" By this time the servants returned with the ponies, which they had very soon caught--these sensible animals finding nothing so captivating in the pastures where they had been suffered to stray, as inclined them to resist the invitation again to subject themselves to saddle and bridle. The prospects of the party were also considerably improved by learning that the contents of their sumpter-pony's burden had not been entirely exhausted,--a small basket having fortunately escaped the rage of Norna and Pacolet, by the rapidity with which one of the servants had caught up and removed it. The same domestic, an alert and ready-witted fellow, had observed upon the beach, not above three miles distant from the Burgh, and about a quarter of a mile off their straight path, a deserted _Skio_, or fisherman's hut, and suggested that they should occupy it for the rest of the night, in order that the ponies might be refreshed, and the young ladies spend the night under cover from the raw evening air. When we are delivered from great and serious dangers, our mood is, or ought to be, grave, in proportion to the peril we have escaped, and the gratitude due to protecting Providence. But few things raise the spirits more naturally, or more harmlessly, than when means of extrication from any of the lesser embarrassments of life are suddenly presented to us; and such was the case in the present instance. The Udaller, relieved from the apprehensions for his daughters suffering from fatigue, and himself from too much appetite and too little food, carolled Norse ditties, as he spurred Bergen through the twilight, with as much glee and gallantry as if the night-ride had been entirely a matter of his own free choice. Brenda lent her voice to some of his choruses, which were echoed in ruder notes by the servants, who, in that simple state of society, were not considered as guilty of any breach of respect by mingling their voices with the song. Minna, indeed, was as yet unequal to such an effort; but she compelled herself to assume some share in the general hilarity of the meeting; and, contrary to her conduct since the fatal morning which concluded the Festival of Saint John, she seemed to take her usual interest in what was going on around her, and answered with kindness and readiness the repeated enquiries concerning her health, with which the Udaller every now and then interrupted his carol. And thus they proceeded by night, a happier party by far than they had been when they traced the same route on the preceding morning, making light of the difficulties of the way, and promising themselves shelter and a comfortable night's rest in the deserted hut which they were now about to approach, and which they expected to find in a state of darkness and solitude. But it was the lot of the Udaller that day to be deceived more than once in his calculations. "And which way lies this cabin of yours, Laurie?" said the Udaller, addressing the intelligent domestic of whom we just spoke. "Yonder it should be," said Laurence Scholey, "at the head of the voe--but, by my faith, if it be the place, there are folk there before us--God and Saint Ronan send that they be canny company!" In truth there was a light in the deserted hut, strong enough to glimmer through every chink of the shingles and wreck-wood of which it was constructed, and to give the whole cabin the appearance of a smithy seen by night. The universal superstition of the Zetlanders seized upon Magnus and his escort. "They are trows," said one voice. "They are witches," murmured another. "They are mermaids," muttered a third; "only hear their wild singing!" All stopped; and, in effect, some notes of music were audible, which Brenda, with a voice that quivered a little, but yet had a turn of arch ridicule in its tone, pronounced to be the sound of a fiddle. "Fiddle or fiend," said the Udaller, who, if he believed in such nightly apparitions as had struck terror into his retinue, certainly feared them not--"fiddle or fiend, may the devil fetch me if a witch cheats me out of supper to-night, for the second time!" So saying, he dismounted, clenched his trusty truncheon in his hand, and advanced towards the hut, followed by Laurence alone; the rest of his retinue continuing stationary on the beach beside his daughters and the ponies. FOOTNOTES: [22] So at least says an Orkney proverb. CHAPTER X. What ho, my jovial mates! come on! we'll frolic it Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward-- He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger To churchman's pace professional, and, ransacking His treacherous memory for some holy hymn, Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. _Old Play._ The stride of the Udaller relaxed nothing of its length or of its firmness as he approached the glimmering cabin, from which he now heard distinctly the sound of the fiddle. But, if still long and firm, his steps succeeded each other rather more slowly than usual; for, like a cautious, though a brave general, Magnus was willing to reconnoitre his enemy before assailing him. The trusty Laurence Scholey, who kept close behind his master, now whispered into his ear, "So help me, sir, as I believe that the ghaist, if ghaist it be, that plays so bravely on the fiddle, must be the ghaist of Maister Claud Halcro, or his wraith at least; for never was bow drawn across thairm which brought out the gude auld spring of 'Fair and Lucky,' so like his ain." Magnus was himself much of the same opinion; for he knew the blithe minstrelsy of the spirited little old man, and hailed the hut with a hearty hilloah, which was immediately replied to by the cheery note of his ancient messmate, and Halcro himself presently made his appearance on the beach. The Udaller now signed to his retinue to come up, while he asked his friend, after a kind greeting and much shaking of hands, "How the devil he came to sit there, playing old tunes in so desolate a place, like an owl whooping to the moon?" "And tell me rather, Fowd," said Claud Halcro, "how you came to be within hearing of me? ay, by my word, and with your bonny daughters, too?--Jarto Minna and Jarto Brenda, I bid you welcome to these yellow sands--and there shake hands, as glorious John, or some other body, says, upon the same occasion. And how came you here like two fair swans, making day out of twilight, and turning all you step upon to silver?" "You shall know all about them presently," answered Magnus; "but what messmates have you got in the hut with you? I think I hear some one speaking." "None," replied Claud Halcro, "but that poor creature, the Factor, and my imp of a boy Giles. I--but come in--come in--here you will find us starving in comfort--not so much as a mouthful of sour sillocks to be had for love or money." "That may be in a small part helped," said the Udaller; "for though the best of our supper is gone over the Fitful Crags to the sealchies and the dog-fish, yet we have got something in the kit still.--Here, Laurie, bring up the _vifda_." "_Jokul, jokul!_"[23] was Laurence's joyful answer; and he hastened for the basket. "By the bicker of Saint Magnus,"[24] said Halcro, "and the burliest bishop that ever quaffed it for luck's sake, there is no finding your locker empty, Magnus! I believe sincerely that ere a friend wanted, you could, like old Luggie the warlock, fish up boiled and roasted out of the pool of Kibster."[25] "You are wrong there, Jarto Claud," said Magnus Troil, "for far from helping me to a supper, the foul fiend, I believe, has carried off great part of mine this blessed evening; but you are welcome to share and share of what is left." This was said while the party entered the hut. Here, in a cabin which smelled strongly of dried fish, and whose sides and roof were jet-black with smoke, they found the unhappy Triptolemus Yellowley seated beside a fire made of dried sea-weed, mingled with some peats and wreck-wood; his sole companion a barefooted, yellow-haired Zetland boy, who acted occasionally as a kind of page to Claud Halcro, bearing his fiddle on his shoulder, saddling his pony, and rendering him similar duties of kindly observance. The disconsolate agriculturist, for such his visage betokened him, displayed little surprise, and less animation, at the arrival of the Udaller and his companions, until, after the party had drawn close to the fire, (a neighbourhood which the dampness of the night air rendered far from disagreeable,) the pannier was opened, and a tolerable supply of barley-bread and hung beef, besides a flask of brandy, (no doubt smaller than that which the relentless hand of Pacolet had emptied into the ocean,) gave assurances of a tolerable supper. Then, indeed, the worthy Factor grinned, chuckled, rubbed his hands, and enquired after all friends at Burgh-Westra. When they had all partaken of this needful refreshment, the Udaller repeated his enquiries of Halcro, and more particularly of the Factor, how they came to be nestled in such a remote corner at such an hour of night. "Maister Magnus Troil," said Triptolemus, when a second cup had given him spirits to tell his tale of woe, "I would not have you think that it is a little thing that disturbs me. I came of that grain that takes a sair wind to shake it. I have seen many a Martinmas and many a Whitsunday in my day, whilk are the times peculiarly grievous to those of my craft, and I could aye bide the bang; but I think I am like to be dung ower a'thegither in this damned country of yours--Gude forgie me for swearing--but evil communication corrupteth good manners." "Now, Heaven guide us," said the Udaller, "what is the matter with the man? Why, man, if you will put your plough into new land, you must look to have it hank on a stone now and then--You must set us an example of patience, seeing you come here for our improvement." "And the deil was in my feet when I did so," said the Factor; "I had better have set myself to improve the cairn on Clochnaben." "But what is it, after all," said the Udaller, "that has befallen you?--what is it that you complain of?" "Of every thing that has chanced to me since I landed on this island, which I believe was accursed at the very creation," said the agriculturist, "and assigned as a fitting station for sorners, thieves, whores, (I beg the ladies' pardon,) witches, bitches, and all evil spirits!" "By my faith, a goodly catalogue!" said Magnus; "and there has been the day, that if I had heard you give out the half of it, I should have turned improver myself, and have tried to amend your manners with a cudgel." "Bear with me," said the Factor, "Maister Fowd, or Maister Udaller, or whatever else they may call you, and as you are strong be pitiful, and consider the luckless lot of any inexperienced person who lights upon this earthly paradise of yours. He asks for drink, they bring him sour whey--no disparagement to your brandy, Fowd, which is excellent--You ask for meat, and they bring you sour sillocks that Satan might choke upon--You call your labourers together, and bid them work; it proves Saint Magnus's day, or Saint Ronan's day, or some infernal saint or other's--or else, perhaps, they have come out of bed with the wrong foot foremost, or they have seen an owl, or a rabbit has crossed their path, or they have dreamed of a roasted horse--in short, nothing is to be done--Give them a spade, and they work as if it burned their fingers; but set them to dancing, and see when they will tire of funking and flinging!" "And why should they, poor bodies," said Claud Halcro, "as long as there are good fiddlers to play to them?" "Ay, ay," said Triptolemus, shaking his head, "you are a proper person to uphold them in such a humour. Well, to proceed:--I till a piece of my best ground; down comes a sturdy beggar that wants a kailyard, or a plant-a-cruive, as you call it, and he claps down an enclosure in the middle of my bit shot of corn, as lightly as if he was baith laird and tenant; and gainsay him wha likes, there he dibbles in his kail-plants! I sit down to my sorrowful dinner, thinking to have peace and quietness there at least; when in comes one, two, three, four, or half-a-dozen of skelping long lads, from some foolery or anither, misca' me for barring my ain door against them, and eat up the best half of what my sister's providence--and she is not over bountiful--has allotted for my dinner! Then enters a witch, with an ellwand in her hand, and she raises the wind or lays it, whichever she likes, majors up and down my house as if she was mistress of it, and I am bounden to thank Heaven if she carries not the broadside of it away with her!" "Still," said the Fowd, "this is no answer to my question--how the foul fiend I come to find you at moorings here?" "Have patience, worthy sir," replied the afflicted Factor, "and listen to what I have to say, for I fancy it will be as well to tell you the whole matter. You must know, I once thought that I had gotten a small godsend, that might have made all these matters easier." "How! a godsend! Do you mean a wreck, Master Factor?" exclaimed Magnus; "shame upon you, that should have set example to others!" "It was no wreck," said the Factor; "but, if you must needs know, it chanced that as I raised an hearthstane in one of the old chambers at Stourburgh, (for my sister is minded that there is little use in mair fire-places about a house than one, and I wanted the stane to knock bear upon,) when, what should I light on but a horn full of old coins, silver the maist feck of them, but wi' a bit sprinkling of gold amang them too.[26] Weel, I thought this was a dainty windfa', and so thought Baby, and we were the mair willing to put up with a place where there were siccan braw nest-eggs--and we slade down the stane cannily over the horn, which seemed to me to be the very cornucopia, or horn of abundance; and for further security, Baby wad visit the room maybe twenty times in the day, and mysell at an orra time, to the boot of a' that." "On my word, and a very pretty amusement," said Claud Halcro, "to look over a horn of one's own siller. I question if glorious John Dryden ever enjoyed such a pastime in his life--I am very sure I never did." "Yes, but you forget, Jarto Claud," said the Udaller, "that the Factor was only counting over the money for my Lord the Chamberlain. As he is so keen for his Lordship's rights in whales and wrecks, he would not surely forget him in treasure-trove." "A-hem! a-hem! a-he--he--hem!" ejaculated Triptolemus, seized at the moment with an awkward fit of coughing,--"no doubt, my Lord's right in the matter would have been considered, being in the hand of one, though I say it, as just as can be found in Angus-shire, let alone the Mearns. But mark what happened of late! One day, as I went up to see that all was safe and snug, and just to count out the share that should have been his Lordship's--for surely the labourer, as one may call the finder, is worthy of his hire--nay, some learned men say, that when the finder, in point of trust and in point of power, representeth the _dominus_, or lord superior, he taketh the whole; but let that pass, as a kittle question _in apicibus juris_, as we wont to say at Saint Andrews--Well, sir and ladies, when I went to the upper chamber, what should I see but an ugsome, ill-shaped, and most uncouth dwarf, that wanted but hoofs and horns to have made an utter devil of him, counting over the very hornful of siller! I am no timorous man, Master Fowd, but, judging that I should proceed with caution in such a matter--for I had reason to believe that there was devilry in it--I accosted him in Latin, (whilk it is maist becoming to speak to aught whilk taketh upon it as a goblin,) and conjured him _in nomine_, and so forth, with such words as my poor learning could furnish of a suddenty, whilk, to say truth, were not so many, nor altogether so purely latineezed as might have been, had I not been few years at college, and many at the pleugh. Well, sirs, he started at first, as one that heareth that which he expects not; but presently recovering himself, he wawls on me with his grey een, like a wild-cat, and opens his mouth, whilk resembled the mouth of an oven, for the deil a tongue he had in it, that I could spy, and took upon his ugly self, altogether the air and bearing of a bull-dog, whilk I have seen loosed at a fair upon a mad staig;[27] whereupon I was something daunted, and withdrew myself to call upon sister Baby, who fears neither dog nor devil, when there is in question the little penny siller. And truly she raise to the fray as I hae seen the Lindsays and Ogilvies bristle up, when Donald MacDonnoch, or the like, made a start down frae the Highlands on the braes of Islay. But an auld useless carline, called Tronda Dronsdaughter, (they might call her Drone the sell of her, without farther addition,) flung herself right in my sister's gate, and yelloched and skirled, that you would have thought her a whole generation of hounds; whereupon I judged it best to make ae yoking of it, and stop the pleugh until I got my sister's assistance. Whilk when I had done, and we mounted the stair to the apartment in which the said dwarf, devil, or other apparition, was to be seen, dwarf, horn, and siller, were as clean gane as if the cat had lickit the place where I saw them." Here Triptolemus paused in his extraordinary narration, while the rest of the party looked upon each other in surprise, and the Udaller muttered to Claud Halcro--"By all tokens, this must have been either the devil or Nicholas Strumpfer; and if it were him, he is more of a goblin than e'er I gave him credit for, and shall be apt to rate him as such in future." Then, addressing the Factor, he enquired--"Saw ye nought how this dwarf of yours parted company?" "As I shall answer it, no," replied Triptolemus, with a cautious look around him, as if daunted by the recollection; "neither I, nor Baby, who had her wits more about her, not having seen this unseemly vision, could perceive any way by whilk he made evasion. Only Tronda said she saw him flee forth of the window of the west roundel of the auld house, upon a dragon, as she averred. But, as the dragon is held a fabulous animal, I suld pronounce her averment to rest upon _deceptio visus_." "But, may we not ask farther," said Brenda, stimulated by curiosity to know as much of her cousin Norna's family as was possible, "how all this operated upon Master Yellowley, so as to occasion his being in this place at so unseasonable an hour?" "Seasonable it must be, Mistress Brenda, since it brought us into your sweet company," answered Claud Halcro, whose mercurial brain far outstripped the slow conceptions of the agriculturist, and who became impatient of being so long silent. "To say the truth, it was I, Mistress Brenda, who recommended to our friend the Factor, whose house I chanced to call at just after this mischance, (and where, by the way, owing doubtless to the hurry of their spirits, I was but poorly received,) to make a visit to our other friend at Fitful-head, well judging from certain points of the story, at which my other and more particular friend than either" (looking at Magnus) "may chance to form a guess, that they who break a head are the best to find a plaster. And as our friend the Factor scrupled travelling on horseback, in respect of some tumbles from our ponies"---- "Which are incarnate devils," said Triptolemus, aloud, muttering under his breath, "like every live thing that I have found in Zetland." "Well, Fowd," continued Halcro, "I undertook to carry him to Fitful-head in my little boat, which Giles and I can manage as if it were an Admiral's barge full manned; and Master Triptolemus Yellowley will tell you how seaman-like I piloted him to the little haven, within a quarter of a mile of Norna's dwelling." "I wish to Heaven you had brought me as safe back again," said the Factor. "Why, to be sure," replied the minstrel, "I am, as glorious John says,-- 'A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger when the waves go high, I seek the storm--but, for a calm unfit, Will steer too near the sands, to show my wit.'" "I showed little wit in intrusting myself to your charge," said Triptolemus; "and you still less when you upset the boat at the throat of the voe, as you call it, when even the poor bairn, that was mair than half drowned, told you that you were carrying too much sail; and then ye wad fasten the rape to the bit stick on the boat-side, that ye might have time to play on the fiddle." "What!" said the Udaller, "make fast the sheets to the thwart? a most unseasonable practice, Claud Halcro." "And sae came of it," replied the agriculturist; "for the neist blast (and we are never lang without ane in these parts) whomled us as a gudewife would whomle a bowie, and ne'er a thing wad Maister Halcro save but his fiddle. The puir bairn swam out like a water-spaniel, and I swattered hard for my life, wi' the help of ane of the oars; and here we are, comfortless creatures, that, till a good wind blew you here, had naething to eat but a mouthful of Norway rusk, that has mair sawdust than rye-meal in it, and tastes liker turpentine than any thing else." "I thought we heard you very merry," said Brenda, "as we came along the beach." "Ye heard a fiddle, Mistress Brenda," said the Factor; "and maybe ye may think there can be nae dearth, miss, where that is skirling. But then it was Maister Claud Halcro's fiddle, whilk, I am apt to think, wad skirl at his father's deathbed, or at his ain, sae lang as his fingers could pinch the thairm. And it was nae sma' aggravation to my misfortune to have him bumming a' sorts of springs,--Norse and Scots, Highland and Lawland, English and Italian, in my lug, as if nothing had happened that was amiss, and we all in such stress and perplexity." "Why, I told you sorrow would never right the boat, Factor," said the thoughtless minstrel, "and I did my best to make you merry; if I failed, it was neither my fault nor my fiddle's. I have drawn the bow across it before glorious John Dryden himself." "I will hear no stories about glorious John Dryden," answered the Udaller, who dreaded Halcro's narratives as much as Triptolemus did his music,--"I will hear nought of him, but one story to every three bowls of punch,--it is our old paction, you know. But tell me, instead, what said Norna to you about your errand?" "Ay, there was anither fine upshot," said Master Yellowley. "She wadna look at us, or listen to us; only she bothered our acquaintance, Master Halcro here, who thought he could have sae much to say wi' her, with about a score of questions about your family and household estate, Master Magnus Troil; and when she had gotten a' she wanted out of him, I thought she wad hae dung him ower the craig, like an empty peacod." "And for yourself?" said the Udaller. "She wadna listen to my story, nor hear sae much as a word that I had to say," answered Triptolemus; "and sae much for them that seek to witches and familiar spirits!" "You needed not to have had recourse to Norna's wisdom, Master Factor," said Minna, not unwilling, perhaps, to stop his railing against the friend who had so lately rendered her service; "the youngest child in Orkney could have told you, that fairy treasures, if they are not wisely employed for the good of others, as well as of those to whom they are imparted, do not dwell long with their possessors." "Your humble servant to command, Mistress Minnie," said Triptolemus; "I thank ye for the hint,--and I am blithe that you have gotten your wits--I beg pardon, I meant your health--into the barn-yard again. For the treasure, I neither used nor abused it,--they that live in the house with my sister Baby wad find it hard to do either!--and as for speaking of it, whilk they say muckle offends them whom we in Scotland call Good Neighbours, and you call Drows, the face of the auld Norse kings on the coins themselves, might have spoken as much about it as ever I did." "The Factor," said Claud Halcro, not unwilling to seize the opportunity of revenging himself on Triptolemus, for disgracing his seamanship and disparaging his music,--"The Factor was so scrupulous, as to keep the thing quiet even from his master, the Lord Chamberlain; but, now that the matter has ta'en wind, he is likely to have to account to his master for that which is no longer in his possession; for the Lord Chamberlain will be in no hurry, I think, to believe the story of the dwarf. Neither do I think" (winking to the Udaller) "that Norna gave credit to a word of so odd a story; and I dare say that was the reason that she received us, I must needs say, in a very dry manner. I rather think she knew that Triptolemus, our friend here, had found some other hiding-hole for the money, and that the story of the goblin was all his own invention. For my part, I will never believe there was such a dwarf to be seen as the creature Master Yellowley describes, until I set my own eyes on him." "Then you may do so at this moment," said the Factor; "for, by ----," (he muttered a deep asseveration as he sprung on his feet in great horror,) "there the creature is!" All turned their eyes in the direction in which he pointed, and saw the hideous misshapen figure of Pacolet, with his eyes fixed and glaring at them through the smoke. He had stolen upon their conversation unperceived, until the Factor's eye lighted upon him in the manner we have described. There was something so ghastly in his sudden and unexpected appearance, that even the Udaller, to whom his form was familiar, could not help starting. Neither pleased with himself for having testified this degree of emotion, however slight, nor with the dwarf who had given cause to it, Magnus asked him sharply, what was his business there? Pacolet replied by producing a letter, which he gave to the Udaller, uttering a sound resembling the word _Shogh_.[28] "That is the Highlandman's language," said the Udaller--"didst thou learn that, Nicholas, when you lost your own?" Pacolet nodded, and signed to him to read his letter. "That is no such easy matter by fire-light, my good friend," replied the Udaller; "but it may concern Minna, and we must try." Brenda offered her assistance, but the Udaller answered, "No, no, my girl,--Norna's letters must be read by those they are written to. Give the knave, Strumpfer, a drop of brandy the while, though he little deserves it at my hands, considering the grin with which he sent the good Nantz down the crag this morning, as if it had been as much ditch-water." "Will you be this honest gentleman's cup-bearer--his Ganymede, friend Yellowley, or shall I?" said Claud Halcro aside to the Factor; while Magnus Troil, having carefully wiped his spectacles, which he produced from a large copper case, had disposed them on his nose, and was studying the epistle of Norna. "I would not touch him, or go near him, for all the Carse of Gowrie," said the Factor, whose fears were by no means entirely removed, though he saw that the dwarf was received as a creature of flesh and blood by the rest of the company; "but I pray you to ask him what he has done with my horn of coins?" The dwarf, who heard the question, threw back his head, and displayed his enormous throat, pointing to it with his finger. "Nay, if he has swallowed them, there is no more to be said," replied the Factor; "only I hope he will thrive on them as a cow on wet clover. He is dame Norna's servant it's like,--such man, such mistress! But if theft and witchcraft are to go unpunished in this land, my lord must find another factor; for I have been used to live in a country where men's worldly gear was keepit from infang and outfang thief, as well as their immortal souls from the claws of the deil and his cummers,--sain and save us!" The agriculturist was perhaps the less reserved in expressing his complaints, that the Udaller was for the present out of hearing, having drawn Claud Halcro apart into another corner of the hut. "And tell me," said he, "friend Halcro, what errand took thee to Sumburgh, since I reckon it was scarce the mere pleasure of sailing in partnership with yonder barnacle?" "In faith, Fowd," said the bard, "and if you will have the truth, I went to speak to Norna on your affairs." "On my affairs?" replied the Udaller; "on what affairs of mine?" "Just touching your daughter's health. I heard that Norna refused your message, and would not see Eric Scambester. Now, said I to myself, I have scarce joyed in meat, or drink, or music, or aught else, since Jarto Minna has been so ill; and I may say, literally as well as figuratively, that my day and night have been made sorrowful to me. In short, I thought I might have some more interest with old Norna than another, as scalds and wise women were always accounted something akin; and I undertook the journey with the hope to be of some use to my old friend and his lovely daughter." "And it was most kindly done of you, good warm-hearted Claud," said the Udaller, shaking him warmly by the hand,--"I ever said you showed the good old Norse heart amongst all thy fiddling and thy folly.--Tut, man, never wince for the matter, but be blithe that thy heart is better than thy head. Well,--and I warrant you got no answer from Norna?" "None to purpose," replied Claud Halcro; "but she held me close to question about Minna's illness, too,--and I told her how I had met her abroad the other morning in no very good weather, and how her sister Brenda said she had hurt her foot;--in short, I told her all and every thing I knew." "And something more besides, it would seem," said the Udaller; "for I, at least, never heard before that Minna had hurt herself." "O, a scratch! a mere scratch!" said the old man; "but I was startled about it--terrified lest it had been the bite of a dog, or some hurt from a venomous thing. I told all to Norna, however." "And what," answered the Udaller, "did she say, in the way of reply?" "She bade me begone about my business, and told me that the issue would be known at the Kirkwall Fair; and said just the like to this noodle of a Factor--it was all that either of us got for our labour," said Halcro. "That is strange," said Magnus. "My kinswoman writes me in this letter not to fail going thither with my daughters. This Fair runs strongly in her head;--one would think she intended to lead the market, and yet she has nothing to buy or to sell there that I know of. And so you came away as wise as you went, and swamped your boat at the mouth of the voe?" "Why, how could I help it?" said the poet. "I had set the boy to steer, and as the flaw came suddenly off shore, I could not let go the tack and play on the fiddle at the same time. But it is all well enough,--salt-water never harmed Zetlander, so as he could get out of it; and, as Heaven would have it, we were within man's depth of the shore, and chancing to find this skio, we should have done well enough, with shelter and fire, and are much better than well with your good cheer and good company. But it wears late, and Night and Day must be both as sleepy as old Midnight can make them. There is an inner crib here, where the fishers slept,--somewhat fragrant with the smell of their fish, but that is wholesome. They shall bestow themselves there, with the help of what cloaks you have, and then we will have one cup of brandy, and one stave of glorious John, or some little trifle of my own, and so sleep as sound as cobblers." "Two glasses of brandy, if you please," said the Udaller, "if our stores do not run dry; but not a single stave of glorious John, or of any one else to-night." And this being arranged and executed agreeably to the peremptory pleasure of the Udaller, the whole party consigned themselves to slumber for the night, and on the next day departed for their several habitations, Claud Halcro having previously arranged with the Udaller that he would accompany him and his daughters on their proposed visit to Kirkwall. FOOTNOTES: [23] _Jokul_, yes, sir; a Norse expression, still in common use. [24] The Bicker of Saint Magnus, a vessel of enormous dimensions, was preserved at Kirkwall, and presented to each bishop of the Orkneys. If the new incumbent was able to quaff it out at one draught, which was a task for Hercules or Rorie Mhor of Dunvegan, the omen boded a crop of unusual fertility. [25] Luggie, a famous conjurer, was wont, when storms prevented him from going to his usual employment of fishing, to angle over a steep rock, at the place called, from his name, Luggie's Knoll. At other times he drew up dressed food while they were out at sea, of which his comrades partook boldly from natural courage, without caring who stood cook. The poor man was finally condemned and burnt at Scalloway. [26] Note IV.--Antique Coins found in Zetland. [27] Young unbroke horse. [28] In Gaelic, _there_. CHAPTER XI. "By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistency. Let the end try the man.... Albeit I could tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad indeed too." _Henry IV., Part 2d._ We must now change the scene from Zetland to Orkney, and request our readers to accompany us to the ruins of an elegant, though ancient structure, called the Earl's Palace. These remains, though much dilapidated, still exist in the neighbourhood of the massive and venerable pile, which Norwegian devotion dedicated to Saint Magnus the Martyr, and, being contiguous to the Bishop's Palace, which is also ruinous, the place is impressive, as exhibiting vestiges of the mutations both in Church and State which have affected Orkney, as well as countries more exposed to such convulsions. Several parts of these ruinous buildings might be selected (under suitable modifications) as the model of a Gothic mansion, provided architects would be contented rather to imitate what is really beautiful in that species of building, than to make a medley of the caprices of the order, confounding the military, ecclesiastical, and domestic styles of all ages at random, with additional fantasies and combinations of their own device, "all formed out of the builder's brain." The Earl's Palace forms three sides of an oblong square, and has, even in its ruins, the air of an elegant yet massive structure, uniting, as was usual in the residence of feudal princes, the character of a palace and of a castle. A great banqueting-hall, communicating with several large rounds, or projecting turret-rooms, and having at either end an immense chimney, testifies the ancient Northern hospitality of the Earls of Orkney, and communicates, almost in the modern fashion, with a gallery, or withdrawing-room, of corresponding dimensions, and having, like the hall, its projecting turrets. The lordly hall itself is lighted by a fine Gothic window of shafted stone at one end, and is entered by a spacious and elegant staircase, consisting of three flights of stone steps. The exterior ornaments and proportions of the ancient building are also very handsome; but, being totally unprotected, this remnant of the pomp and grandeur of Earls, who assumed the license as well as the dignity of petty sovereigns, is now fast crumbling to decay, and has suffered considerably since the date of our story. With folded arms and downcast looks the pirate Cleveland was pacing slowly the ruined hall which we have just described; a place of retirement which he had probably chosen because it was distant from public resort. His dress was considerably altered from that which he usually wore in Zetland, and seemed a sort of uniform, richly laced, and exhibiting no small quantity of embroidery: a hat with a plume, and a small sword very handsomely mounted, then the constant companion of every one who assumed the rank of a gentleman, showed his pretensions to that character. But if his exterior was so far improved, it seemed to be otherwise with his health and spirits. He was pale, and had lost both the fire of his eye and the vivacity of his step, and his whole appearance indicated melancholy of mind, or suffering of body, or a combination of both evils. As Cleveland thus paced these ancient ruins, a young man, of a light and slender form, whose showy dress seemed to have been studied with care, yet exhibited more extravagance than judgment or taste, whose manner was a janty affectation of the free and easy rake of the period, and the expression of whose countenance was lively, with a cast of effrontery, tripped up the staircase, entered the hall, and presented himself to Cleveland, who merely nodded to him, and pulling his hat deeper over his brows, resumed his solitary and discontented promenade. The stranger adjusted his own hat, nodded in return, took snuff, with the air of a _petit maitre_, from a richly chased gold box, offered it to Cleveland as he passed, and being repulsed rather coldly, replaced the box in his pocket, folded his arms in his turn, and stood looking with fixed attention on his motions whose solitude he had interrupted. At length Cleveland stopped short, as if impatient of being longer the subject of his observation, and said abruptly, "Why can I not be left alone for half an hour, and what the devil is it that you want?" "I am glad you spoke first," answered the stranger, carelessly; "I was determined to know whether you were Clement Cleveland, or Cleveland's ghost, and they say ghosts never take the first word, so I now set it down for yourself in life and limb; and here is a fine old hurly-house you have found out for an owl to hide himself in at mid-day, or a ghost to revisit the pale glimpses of the moon, as the divine Shakspeare says." "Well, well," answered Cleveland, abruptly, "your jest is made, and now let us have your earnest." "In earnest, then, Captain Cleveland," replied his companion, "I think you know me for your friend." "I am content to suppose so," said Cleveland. "It is more than supposition," replied the young man; "I have proved it--proved it both here and elsewhere." "Well, well," answered Cleveland, "I admit you have been always a friendly fellow--and what then?" "Well, well--and what then?" replied the other; "this is but a brief way of thanking folk. Look you, Captain, here is Benson, Barlowe, Dick Fletcher, and a few others of us who wished you well, have kept your old comrade Captain Goffe in these seas upon the look-out for you, when he and Hawkins, and the greater part of the ship's company, would fain have been down on the Spanish Main, and at the old trade." "And I wish to God that you had all gone about your business," said Cleveland, "and left me to my fate." "Which would have been to be informed against and hanged, Captain, the first time that any of these Dutch or English rascals, whom you have lightened of their cargoes, came to set their eyes upon you; and no place more likely to meet with seafaring men, than in these Islands. And here, to screen you from such a risk, we have been wasting our precious time, till folk are grown very peery; and when we have no more goods or money to spend amongst them, the fellows will be for grabbing the ship." "Well, then, why do you not sail off without me?" said Cleveland--"there has been fair partition, and all have had their share--let all do as they like. I have lost my ship, and having been once a Captain, I will not go to sea under command of Goffe or any other man. Besides, you know well enough that both Hawkins and he bear me ill-will for keeping them from sinking the Spanish brig, with the poor devils of negroes on board." "Why, what the foul fiend is the matter with thee?" said his companion; "are you Clement Cleveland, our own old true-hearted Clem of the Cleugh, and do you talk of being afraid of Hawkins and Goffe, and a score of such fellows, when you have myself, and Barlowe, and Dick Fletcher at your back? When was it we deserted you, either in council or in fight, that you should be afraid of our flinching now? And as for serving under Goffe, I hope it is no new thing for gentlemen of fortune who are going on the account, to change a Captain now and then? Let us alone for that,--Captain you shall be; for death rock me asleep if I serve under that fellow Goffe, who is as very a bloodhound as ever sucked bitch!--No, no, I thank you--my Captain must have a little of the gentleman about him, howsoever. Besides, you know, it was you who first dipped my hands in the dirty water, and turned me from a stroller by land, to a rover by sea." "Alas, poor Bunce!" said Cleveland, "you owe me little thanks for that service." "That is as you take it," replied Bunce; "for my part, I see no harm in levying contributions on the public either one way or t'other. But I wish you would forget that name of Bunce, and call me Altamont, as I have often desired you to do. I hope a gentleman of the roving trade has as good a right to have an alias as a stroller, and I never stepped on the boards but what I was Altamont at the least." "Well, then, Jack Altamont," replied Cleveland, "since Altamont is the word"---- "Yes, but, Captain, _Jack_ is not the word, though Altamont be so. Jack Altamont?--why, 'tis a velvet coat with paper lace--Let it be Frederick, Captain; Frederick Altamont is all of a piece." "Frederick be it, then, with all my heart," said Cleveland; "and pray tell me, which of your names will sound best at the head of the Last Speech, Confession, and Dying Words of John Bunce, _alias_ Frederick Altamont, who was this morning hanged at Execution-dock, for the crime of Piracy upon the High Seas?" "Faith, I cannot answer that question, without another can of grog, Captain; so if you will go down with me to Bet Haldane's on the quay, I will bestow some thought on the matter, with the help of a right pipe of Trinidado. We will have the gallon bowl filled with the best stuff you ever tasted, and I know some smart wenches who will help us to drain it. But you shake your head--you're not i' the vein?--Well, then, I will stay with you; for by this hand, Clem, you shift me not off. Only I will ferret you out of this burrow of old stones, and carry you into sunshine and fair air.--Where shall we go?" "Where you will," said Cleveland, "so that you keep out of the way of our own rascals, and all others." "Why, then," replied Bunce, "you and I will go up to the Hill of Whitford, which overlooks the town, and walk together as gravely and honestly as a pair of well-employed attorneys." As they proceeded to leave the ruinous castle, Bunce, turning back to look at it, thus addressed his companion: "Hark ye, Captain, dost thou know who last inhabited this old cockloft?" "An Earl of the Orkneys, they say," replied Cleveland. "And are you avised what death he died of?" said Bunce; "for I have heard that it was of a tight neck-collar--a hempen fever, or the like." "The people here do say," replied Cleveland, "that his Lordship, some hundred years ago, had the mishap to become acquainted with the nature of a loop and a leap in the air." "Why, la ye there now!" said Bunce; "there was some credit in being hanged in those days, and in such worshipful company. And what might his lordship have done to deserve such promotion?" "Plundered the liege subjects, they say," replied Cleveland; "slain and wounded them, fired upon his Majesty's flag, and so forth." "Near akin to a gentleman rover, then," said Bunce, making a theatrical bow towards the old building; "and, therefore, my most potent, grave, and reverend Signior Earl, I crave leave to call you my loving cousin, and bid you most heartily adieu. I leave you in the good company of rats and mice, and so forth, and I carry with me an honest gentleman, who, having of late had no more heart than a mouse, is now desirous to run away from his profession and friends like a rat, and would therefore be a most fitting denizen of your Earlship's palace." "I would advise you not to speak so loud, my good friend Frederick Altamont, or John Bunce," said Cleveland; "when you were on the stage, you might safely rant as loud as you listed; but, in your present profession, of which you are so fond, every man speaks under correction of the yard-arm, and a running noose." The comrades left the little town of Kirkwall in silence, and ascended the Hill of Whitford, which raises its brow of dark heath, uninterrupted by enclosures or cultivation of any kind, to the northward of the ancient Burgh of Saint Magnus. The plain at the foot of the hill was already occupied by numbers of persons who were engaged in making preparations for the Fair of Saint Olla, to be held upon the ensuing day, and which forms a general rendezvous to all the neighbouring islands of Orkney, and is even frequented by many persons from the more distant archipelago of Zetland. It is, in the words of the Proclamation, "a free Mercat and Fair, holden at the good Burgh of Kirkwall on the third of August, being Saint Olla's day," and continuing for an indefinite space thereafter, extending from three days to a week, and upwards. The fair is of great antiquity, and derives its name from Olaus, Olave, Ollaw, the celebrated Monarch of Norway, who, rather by the edge of his sword than any milder argument, introduced Christianity into those isles, and was respected as the patron of Kirkwall some time before he shared that honour with Saint Magnus the Martyr. It was no part of Cleveland's purpose to mingle in the busy scene which was here going on; and, turning their route to the left, they soon ascended into undisturbed solitude, save where the grouse, more plentiful in Orkney, perhaps, than in any other part of the British dominions, rose in covey, and went off before them.[29] Having continued to ascend till they had wellnigh reached the summit of the conical hill, both turned round, as with one consent, to look at and admire the prospect beneath. The lively bustle which extended between the foot of the hill and the town, gave life and variety to that part of the scene; then was seen the town itself, out of which arose, like a great mass, superior in proportion as it seemed to the whole burgh, the ancient Cathedral of Saint Magnus, of the heaviest order of Gothic architecture, but grand, solemn, and stately, the work of a distant age, and of a powerful hand. The quay, with the shipping, lent additional vivacity to the scene; and not only the whole beautiful bay, which lies betwixt the promontories of Inganess and Quanterness, at the bottom of which Kirkwall is situated, but all the sea, so far as visible, and in particular the whole strait betwixt the island of Shapinsha and that called Pomona, or the Mainland, was covered and enlivened by a variety of boats and small vessels, freighted from distant islands to convey passengers or merchandise to the Fair of Saint Olla. Having attained the point by which this fair and busy prospect was most completely commanded, each of the strangers, in seaman fashion, had recourse to his spy-glass, to assist the naked eye in considering the bay of Kirkwall, and the numerous vessels by which it was traversed. But the attention of the two companions seemed to be arrested by different objects. That of Bunce, or Altamont, as he chose to call himself, was riveted to the armed sloop, where, conspicuous by her square rigging and length of beam, with the English jack and pennon, which they had the precaution to keep flying, she lay among the merchant vessels, as distinguished from them by the trim neatness of her appearance, as a trained soldier amongst a crowd of clowns. "Yonder she lies," said Bunce; "I wish to God she was in the bay of Honduras--you Captain, on the quarter-deck, I your lieutenant, and Fletcher quarter-master, and fifty stout fellows under us--I should not wish to see these blasted heaths and rocks again for a while!--And Captain you shall soon be. The old brute Goffe gets drunk as a lord every day, swaggers, and shoots, and cuts, among the crew; and, besides, he has quarrelled with the people here so damnably, that they will scarce let water or provisions go on board of us, and we expect an open breach every day." As Bunce received no answer, he turned short round on his companion, and, perceiving his attention otherwise engaged, exclaimed,--"What the devil is the matter with you? or what can you see in all that trumpery small-craft, which is only loaded with stock-fish, and ling, and smoked geese, and tubs of butter that is worse than tallow?--the cargoes of the whole lumped together would not be worth the flash of a pistol.--No, no, give me such a chase as we might see from the mast-head off the island of Trinidado. Your Don, rolling as deep in the water as a grampus, deep-loaden with rum, sugar, and bales of tobacco, and all the rest ingots, moidores, and gold dust; then set all sail, clear the deck, stand to quarters, up with the Jolly Roger[30]--we near her--we make her out to be well manned and armed"---- "Twenty guns on her lower deck," said Cleveland. "Forty, if you will," retorted Bunce, "and we have but ten mounted--never mind. The Don blazes away--never mind yet, my brave lads--run her alongside, and on board with you--to work, with your grenadoes, your cutlasses, pole-axes, and pistols--The Don cries Misericordia, and we share the cargo without _co licencio, Seignior_!" "By my faith," said Cleveland, "thou takest so kindly to the trade, that all the world may see that no honest man was spoiled when you were made a pirate. But you shall not prevail on me to go farther in the devil's road with you; for you know yourself that what is got over his back is spent--you wot how. In a week, or a month at most, the rum and the sugar are out, the bales of tobacco have become smoke, the moidores, ingots, and gold dust, have got out of our hands, into those of the quiet, honest, conscientious folks, who dwell at Port Royal and elsewhere--wink hard on our trade as long as we have money, but not a jot beyond. Then we have cold looks, and it may be a hint is given to the Judge Marshal; for, when our pockets are worth nothing, our honest friends, rather than want, will make money upon our heads. Then comes a high gallows and a short halter, and so dies the Gentleman Rover. I tell thee, I will leave this trade; and, when I turn my glass from one of these barks and boats to another, there is not the worst of them which I would not row for life, rather than continue to be what I have been. These poor men make the sea a means of honest livelihood and friendly communication between shore and shore, for the mutual benefit of the inhabitants; but we have made it a road to the ruin of others, and to our own destruction here and in eternity.--I am determined to turn honest man, and use this life no longer!" "And where will your honesty take up its abode, if it please you?" said Bunce.--"You have broken the laws of every nation, and the hand of the law will detect and crush you wherever you may take refuge.--Cleveland, I speak to you more seriously than I am wont to do. I have had my reflections, too; and they have been bad enough, though they lasted but a few minutes, to spoil me weeks of joviality. But here is the matter,--what can we do but go on as we have done, unless we have a direct purpose of adorning the yard-arm?" "We may claim the benefit of the proclamation to those of our sort who come in and surrender," said Cleveland. "Umph!" answered his companion, dryly; "the date of that day of grace has been for some time over, and they may take the penalty or grant the pardon at their pleasure. Were I you, I would not put my neck in such a venture." "Why, others have been admitted but lately to favour, and why should not I?" said Cleveland. "Ay," replied his associate, "Harry Glasby and some others have been spared; but Glasby did what was called good service, in betraying his comrades, and retaking the Jolly Fortune; and that I think you would scorn, even to be revenged of the brute Goffe yonder." "I would die a thousand times sooner," said Cleveland. "I will be sworn for it," said Bunce; "and the others were forecastle fellows--petty larceny rogues, scarce worth the hemp it would have cost to hang them. But your name has stood too high amongst the gentlemen of fortune for you to get off so easily. You are the prime buck of the herd, and will be marked accordingly." "And why so, I pray you?" said Cleveland; "you know well enough my aim, Jack." "Frederick, if you please," said Bunce. "The devil take your folly!--Prithee keep thy wit, and let us be grave for a moment." "For a moment--be it so," said Bunce; "but I feel the spirit of Altamont coming fast upon me,--I have been a grave man for ten minutes already." "Be so then for a little longer," said Cleveland; "I know, Jack, that you really love me; and, since we have come thus far in this talk, I will trust you entirely. Now tell me, why should I be refused the benefit of this gracious proclamation? I have borne a rough outside, as thou knowest; but, in time of need, I can show the numbers of lives which I have been the means of saving, the property which I have restored to those who owned it, when, without my intercession, it would have been wantonly destroyed. In short, Bunce, I can show"---- "That you were as gentle a thief as Robin Hood himself," said Bunce; "and, for that reason, I, Fletcher, and the better sort among us, love you, as one who saves the character of us Gentlemen Rovers from utter reprobation.--Well, suppose your pardon made out, what are you to do next?--what class in society will receive you?--with whom will you associate? Old Drake, in Queen Bess's time, could plunder Peru and Mexico without a line of commission to show for it, and, blessed be her memory! he was knighted for it on his return. And there was Hal Morgan, the Welshman, nearer our time, in the days of merry King Charles, brought all his gettings home, had his estate and his country-house, and who but he? But that is all ended now--once a pirate, and an outcast for ever. The poor devil may go and live, shunned and despised by every one, in some obscure seaport, with such part of his guilty earnings as courtiers and clerks leave him--for pardons do not pass the seals for nothing;--and, when he takes his walk along the pier, if a stranger asks, who is the down-looking, swarthy, melancholy man, for whom all make way, as if he brought the plague in his person, the answer shall be, that is such a one, the pardoned pirate!--No honest man will speak to him, no woman of repute will give him her hand." "Your picture is too highly coloured, Jack," said Cleveland, suddenly interrupting his friend; "there are women--there is one at least, that would be true to her lover, even if he were what you have described." Bunce was silent for a space, and looked fixedly at his friend. "By my soul!" he said, at length, "I begin to think myself a conjurer. Unlikely as it all was, I could not help suspecting from the beginning that there was a girl in the case. Why, this is worse than Prince Volscius in love, ha! ha! ha!" "Laugh as you will," said Cleveland, "it is true;--there is a maiden who is contented to love me, pirate as I am; and I will fairly own to you, Jack, that, though I have often at times detested our roving life, and myself for following it, yet I doubt if I could have found resolution to make the break which I have now resolved on, but for her sake." "Why, then, God-a-mercy!" replied Bunce, "there is no speaking sense to a madman; and love in one of our trade, Captain, is little better than lunacy. The girl must be a rare creature, for a wise man to risk hanging for her. But, harkye, may she not be a little touched, as well as yourself?--and is it not sympathy that has done it? She cannot be one of our ordinary cockatrices, but a girl of conduct and character." "Both are as undoubted as that she is the most beautiful and bewitching creature whom the eye ever opened upon," answered Cleveland. "And she loves thee, knowing thee, most noble Captain, to be a commander among those gentlemen of fortune, whom the vulgar call pirates?" "Even so--I am assured of it," said Cleveland. "Why, then," answered Bunce, "she is either mad in good earnest, as I said before, or she does not know what a pirate is." "You are right in the last point," replied Cleveland. "She has been bred in such remote simplicity, and utter ignorance of what is evil, that she compares our occupation with that of the old Norsemen, who swept sea and haven with their victorious galleys, established colonies, conquered countries, and took the name of Sea-Kings." "And a better one it is than that of pirate, and comes much to the same purpose, I dare say," said Bunce. "But this must be a mettled wench!--why did you not bring her aboard? methinks it was pity to baulk her fancy." "And do you think," said Cleveland, "that I could so utterly play the part of a fallen spirit as to avail myself of her enthusiastic error, and bring an angel of beauty and innocence acquainted with such a hell as exists on board of yonder infernal ship of ours?--I tell you, my friend, that, were all my former sins doubled in weight and in dye, such a villainy would have outglared and outweighed them all." "Why, then, Captain Cleveland," said his confident, "methinks it was but a fool's part to come hither at all. The news must one day have gone abroad, that the celebrated pirate Captain Cleveland, with his good sloop the Revenge, had been lost on the Mainland of Zetland, and all hands perished; so you would have remained hid both from friend and enemy, and might have married your pretty Zetlander, and converted your sash and scarf into fishing-nets, and your cutlass into a harpoon, and swept the seas for fish instead of florins." "And so I had determined," said the Captain; "but a Jagger, as they call them here, like a meddling, peddling thief as he is, brought down intelligence to Zetland of your lying here, and I was fain to set off, to see if you were the consort of whom I had told them, long before I thought of leaving the roving trade." "Ay," said Bunce, "and so far you judged well. For, as you had heard of our being at Kirkwall, so we should have soon learned that you were at Zetland; and some of us for friendship, some for hatred, and some for fear of your playing Harry Glasby upon us, would have come down for the purpose of getting you into our company again." "I suspected as much," said the Captain, "and therefore was fain to decline the courteous offer of a friend, who proposed to bring me here about this time. Besides, Jack, I recollected, that, as you say, my pardon will not pass the seals without money, my own was waxing low--no wonder, thou knowest I was never a churl of it--And so"---- "And so you came for your share of the cobs?" replied his friend--"It was wisely done; and we shared honourably--so far Goffe has acted up to articles, it must be allowed. But keep your purpose of leaving him close in your breast, for I dread his playing you some dog's trick or other; for he certainly thought himself sure of your share, and will hardly forgive your coming alive to disappoint him." "I fear him not," said Cleveland, "and he knows that well. I would I were as well clear of the consequences of having been his comrade, as I hold myself to be of all those which may attend his ill-will. Another unhappy job I may be troubled with--I hurt a young fellow, who has been my plague for some time, in an unhappy brawl that chanced the morning I left Zetland." "Is he dead?" asked Bunce: "It is a more serious question here, than it would be on the Grand Caimains or the Bahama Isles, where a brace or two of fellows may be shot in a morning, and no more heard of, or asked about them, than if they were so many wood-pigeons. But here it may be otherwise; so I hope you have not made your friend immortal." "I hope not," said the Captain, "though my anger has been fatal to those who have given me less provocation. To say the truth, I was sorry for the lad notwithstanding, and especially as I was forced to leave him in mad keeping." "In mad keeping?" said Bunce; "why, what means that?" "You shall hear," replied his friend. "In the first place, you are to know, this young man came suddenly on me while I was trying to gain Minna's ear for a private interview before I set sail, that I might explain my purpose to her. Now, to be broken in on by the accursed rudeness of this young fellow at such a moment"---- "The interruption deserved death," said Bunce, "by all the laws of love and honour!" "A truce with your ends of plays, Jack, and listen one moment.--The brisk youth thought proper to retort, when I commanded him to be gone. I am not, thou knowest, very patient, and enforced my commands with a blow, which he returned as roundly. We struggled, till I became desirous that we should part at any rate, which I could only effect by a stroke of my poniard, which, according to old use, I have, thou knowest, always about me. I had scarce done this when I repented; but there was no time to think of any thing save escape and concealment, for, if the house rose on me, I was lost; as the fiery old man, who is head of the family, would have done justice on me had I been his brother. I took the body hastily on my shoulders to carry it down to the sea-shore, with the purpose of throwing it into a _riva_, as they call them, or chasm of great depth, where it would have been long enough in being discovered. This done, I intended to jump into the boat which I had lying ready, and set sail for Kirkwall. But, as I was walking hastily towards the beach with my burden, the poor young fellow groaned, and so apprized me that the wound had not been instantly fatal. I was by this time well concealed amongst the rocks, and, far from desiring to complete my crime, I laid the young man on the ground, and was doing what I could to stanch the blood, when suddenly an old woman stood before me. She was a person whom I had frequently seen while in Zetland, and to whom they ascribe the character of a sorceress, or, as the negroes say, an Obi woman. She demanded the wounded man of me, and I was too much pressed for time to hesitate in complying with her request. More she was about to say to me, when we heard the voice of a silly old man, belonging to the family, singing at some distance. She then pressed her finger on her lip as a sign of secrecy, whistled very low, and a shapeless, deformed brute of a dwarf coming to her assistance, they carried the wounded man into one of the caverns with which the place abounds, and I got to my boat and to sea with all expedition. If that old hag be, as they say, connected with the King of the Air, she favoured me that morning with a turn of her calling; for not even the West Indian tornadoes, which we have weathered together, made a wilder racket than the squall that drove me so far out of our course, that, without a pocket-compass, which I chanced to have about me, I should never have recovered the Fair Isle, for which we run, and where I found a brig which brought me to this place. But, whether the old woman meant me weal or woe, here we came at length in safety from the sea, and here I remain in doubts and difficulties of more kinds than one." "O, the devil take the Sumburgh-head," said Bunce, "or whatever they call the rock that you knocked our clever little Revenge against!" "Do not say _I_ knocked her on the rock," said Cleveland; "have I not told you fifty times, if the cowards had not taken to their boat, though I showed them the danger, and told them they would all be swamped, which happened the instant they cast off the painter, she would have been afloat at this moment? Had they stood by me and the ship, their lives would have been saved; had I gone with them, mine would have been lost; who can say which is for the best?" "Well," replied his friend, "I know your case now, and can the better help and advise. I will be true to you, Clement, as the blade to the hilt; but I cannot think that you should leave us. As the old Scottish song says, 'Wae's my heart that we should sunder!'--But come, you will aboard with us to-day, at any rate?" "I have no other place of refuge," said Cleveland, with a sigh. He then once more ran his eyes over the bay, directing his spy-glass upon several of the vessels which traversed its surface, in hopes, doubtless, of discerning the vessel of Magnus Troil, and then followed his companion down the hill in silence. FOOTNOTES: [29] It is very curious that the grouse, plenty in Orkney as the text declares, should be totally unknown in the neighbouring archipelago of Zetland, which is only about sixty miles distance, with the Fair Isle as a step between. [30] The pirates gave this name to the black flag, which, with many horrible devices to enhance its terrors, was their favourite ensign. CHAPTER XII I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, Which, lacking favouring breeze, hath not the power To stem the powerful current.--Even so, Resolving daily to forsake my vices, Habits, strong circumstance, renew'd temptation, Sweep me to sea again.--O heavenly breath, Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel, Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without thee! _'Tis Odds when Evens meet._ Cleveland, with his friend Bunce, descended the hill for a time in silence, until at length the latter renewed their conversation. "You have taken this fellow's wound more on your conscience than you need, Captain--I have known you do more, and think less on't." "Not on such slight provocation, Jack," replied Cleveland. "Besides, the lad saved my life; and, say that I requited him the favour, still we should not have met on such evil terms; but I trust that he may receive aid from that woman, who has certainly strange skill in simples." "And over simpletons, Captain," said his friend, "in which class I must e'en put you down, if you think more on this subject. That you should be made a fool of by a young woman, why it is many an honest man's case;--but to puzzle your pate about the mummeries of an old one, is far too great a folly to indulge a friend in. Talk to me of your Minna, since you so call her, as much as you will; but you have no title to trouble your faithful squire-errant with your old mumping magician. And now here we are once more amongst the booths and tents, which these good folk are pitching--let us look, and see whether we may not find some fun and frolic amongst them. In merry England, now, you would have seen, on such an occasion, two or three bands of strollers, as many fire-eaters and conjurers, as many shows of wild beasts; but, amongst these grave folk, there is nothing but what savours of business and of commodity--no, not so much as a single squall from my merry gossip Punch and his rib Joan." As Bunce thus spoke, Cleveland cast his eyes on some very gay clothes, which, with other articles, hung out upon one of the booths, that had a good deal more of ornament and exterior decoration than the rest. There was in front a small sign of canvass painted, announcing the variety of goods which the owner of the booth, Bryce Snailsfoot, had on sale, and the reasonable prices at which he proposed to offer them to the public. For the further gratification of the spectator, the sign bore on the opposite side an emblematic device, resembling our first parents in their vegetable garments, with this legend-- "Poor sinners whom the snake deceives, Are fain to cover them with leaves. Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true, Because that trees are none, or few; But we have flax and taits of woo', For linen cloth and wadmaal blue; And we have many of foreign knacks Of finer waft, than woo' or flax. Ye gallanty Lambmas lads,[31] appear, And bring your Lambmas sisters here; Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care, To pleasure every gentle pair." While Cleveland was perusing these goodly rhymes, which brought to his mind Claud Halcro, to whom, as the poet laureate of the island, ready with his talent alike in the service of the great and small, they probably owed their origin, the worthy proprietor of the booth, having cast his eye upon him, began with hasty and trembling hand to remove some of the garments, which, as the sale did not commence till the ensuing day, he had exposed either for the purpose of airing them, or to excite the admiration of the spectators. "By my word, Captain," whispered Bunce to Cleveland, "you must have had that fellow under your clutches one day, and he remembers one gripe of your talons, and fears another. See how fast he is packing his wares out of sight, so soon as he set eyes on you!" "_His_ wares!" said Cleveland, on looking more attentively at his proceedings; "By Heaven, they are my clothes which I left in a chest at Jarlshof when the Revenge was lost there--Why, Bryce Snailsfoot, thou thief, dog, and villain, what means this? Have you not made enough of us by cheap buying and dear selling, that you have seized on my trunk and wearing apparel?" Bryce Snailsfoot, who probably would otherwise not have been willing to _see_ his friend the Captain, was now by the vivacity of his attack obliged to pay attention to him. He first whispered to his little foot-page, by whom, as we have already noticed, he was usually attended, "Run to the town-council-house, jarto, and tell the provost and bailies they maun send some of their officers speedily, for here is like to be wild wark in the fair." So having said, and having seconded his commands by a push on the shoulder of his messenger, which sent him spinning out of the shop as fast as heels could carry him, Bryce Snailsfoot turned to his old acquaintance, and, with that amplification of words and exaggeration of manner, which in Scotland is called "making a phrase," he ejaculated--"The Lord be gude to us! the worthy Captain Cleveland, that we were all sae grieved about, returned to relieve our hearts again! Wat have my cheeks been for you," (here Bryce wiped his eyes,) "and blithe am I now to see you restored to your sorrowing friends!" "My sorrowing friends, you rascal!" said Cleveland; "I will give you better cause for sorrow than ever you had on my account, if you do not tell me instantly where you stole all my clothes." "Stole!" ejaculated Bryce, casting up his eyes; "now the Powers be gude to us!--the poor gentleman has lost his reason in that weary gale of wind." "Why, you insolent rascal!" said Cleveland, grasping the cane which he carried, "do you think to bamboozle me with your impudence? As you would have a whole head on your shoulders, and your bones in a whole skin, one minute longer, tell me where the devil you stole my wearing apparel?" Bryce Snailsfoot ejaculated once more a repetition of the word "Stole! Now Heaven be gude to us!" but at the same time, conscious that the Captain was likely to be sudden in execution, cast an anxious look to the town, to see the loitering aid of the civil power advance to his rescue. "I insist on an instant answer," said the Captain, with upraised weapon, "or else I will beat you to a mummy, and throw out all your frippery upon the common!" Meanwhile, Master John Bunce, who considered the whole affair as an excellent good jest, and not the worse one that it made Cleveland very angry, seized hold of the Captain's arm, and, without any idea of ultimately preventing him from executing his threats, interfered just so much as was necessary to protract a discussion so amusing. "Nay, let the honest man speak," he said, "messmate; he has as fine a cozening face as ever stood on a knavish pair of shoulders, and his are the true flourishes of eloquence, in the course of which men snip the cloth an inch too short. Now, I wish you to consider that you are both of a trade,--he measures bales by the yard, and you by the sword,--and so I will not have him chopped up till he has had a fair chase." "You are a fool!" said Cleveland, endeavouring to shake his friend off.--"Let me go! for, by Heaven, I will be foul of him!" "Hold him fast," said the pedlar, "good dear merry gentleman, hold him fast!" "Then say something for yourself," said Bunce; "use your gob-box, man; patter away, or, by my soul, I will let him loose on you!" "He says I stole these goods," said Bryce, who now saw himself run so close, that pleading to the charge became inevitable. "Now, how could I steal them, when they are mine by fair and lawful purchase?" "Purchase! you beggarly vagrant!" said Cleveland; "from whom did you dare to buy my clothes? or who had the impudence to sell them?" "Just that worthy professor Mrs. Swertha, the housekeeper at Jarlshof, who acted as your executor," said the pedlar; "and a grieved heart she had." "And so she was resolved to make a heavy pocket of it, I suppose," said the Captain; "but how did she dare to sell the things left in her charge?" "Why, she acted all for the best, good woman!" said the pedlar, anxious to protract the discussion until the arrival of succours; "and, if you will but hear reason, I am ready to account with you for the chest and all that it holds." "Speak out, then, and let us have none of thy damnable evasions," said Captain Cleveland; "if you show ever so little purpose of being somewhat honest for once in thy life, I will not beat thee." "Why, you see, noble Captain," said the pedlar,--and then muttered to himself, "plague on Pate Paterson's cripple knee, they will be waiting for him, hirpling useless body!" then resumed aloud--"The country, you see, is in great perplexity,--great perplexity, indeed,--much perplexity, truly. There was your honour missing, that was loved by great and small--clean missing--nowhere to be heard of--a lost man--umquhile--dead--defunct!" "You shall find me alive to your cost, you scoundrel!" said the irritated Captain. "Weel, but take patience,--ye will not hear a body speak," said the Jagger.--"Then there was the lad Mordaunt Mertoun"---- "Ha!" said the Captain, "what of him?" "Cannot be heard of," said the pedlar; "clean and clear tint,--a gone youth;--fallen, it is thought, from the craig into the sea--he was aye venturous. I have had dealings with him for furs and feathers, whilk he swapped against powder and shot, and the like; and now he has worn out from among us--clean retired--utterly vanished, like the last puff of an auld wife's tobacco pipe." "But what is all this to the Captain's clothes, my dear friend?" said Bunce; "I must presently beat you myself unless you come to the point." "Weel, weel,--patience, patience," said Bryce, waving his hand; "you will get all time enough. Weel, there are two folks gane, as I said, forbye the distress at Burgh-Westra about Mistress Minna's sad ailment"---- "Bring not _her_ into your buffoonery, sirrah," said Cleveland, in a tone of anger, not so loud, but far deeper and more concentrated than he had hitherto used; "for, if you name her with less than reverence, I will crop the ears out of your head, and make you swallow them on the spot!" "He, he, he!" faintly laughed the Jagger; "that were a pleasant jest! you are pleased to be witty. But, to say naething of Burgh-Westra, there is the carle at Jarlshof, he that was the auld Mertoun, Mordaunt's father, whom men thought as fast bound to the place he dwelt in as the Sumburgh-head itsell, naething maun serve him but he is lost as weel as the lave about whom I have spoken. And there's Magnus Troil (wi' favour be he named) taking horse; and there is pleasant Maister Claud Halcro taking boat, whilk he steers worst of any man in Zetland, his head running on rambling rhymes; and the Factor body is on the stir--the Scots Factor,--him that is aye speaking of dikes and delving, and such unprofitable wark, which has naething of merchandise in it, and he is on the lang trot, too; so that ye might say, upon a manner, the tae half of the Mainland of Zetland is lost, and the other is running to and fro seeking it--awfu' times!" Captain Cleveland had subdued his passion, and listened to this tirade of the worthy man of merchandise, with impatience indeed, yet not without the hope of hearing something that might concern him. But his companion was now become impatient in his turn:--"The clothes!" he exclaimed, "the clothes, the clothes, the clothes!" accompanying each repetition of the words with a flourish of his cane, the dexterity of which consisted in coming mighty near the Jagger's ears without actually touching them. The Jagger, shrinking from each of these demonstrations, continued to exclaim, "Nay, sir--good sir--worthy sir--for the clothes--I found the worthy dame in great distress on account of her old maister, and on account of her young maister, and on account of worthy Captain Cleveland; and because of the distress of the worthy Fowd's family, and the trouble of the great Fowd himself,--and because of the Factor, and in respect of Claud Halcro, and on other accounts and respects. Also we mingled our sorrows and our tears with a bottle, as the holy text hath it, and called in the Ranzelman to our council, a worthy man, Niel Ronaldson by name, who hath a good reputation." Here another flourish of the cane came so very near that it partly touched his ear. The Jagger started back, and the truth, or that which he desired should be considered as such, bolted from him without more circumlocution; as a cork, after much unnecessary buzzing and fizzing, springs forth from a bottle of spruce beer. "In brief, what the deil mair would you have of it?--the woman sold me the kist of clothes--they are mine by purchase, and that is what I will live and die upon." "In other words," said Cleveland, "this greedy old hag had the impudence to sell what was none of hers; and you, honest Bryce Snailsfoot, had the assurance to be the purchaser?" "Ou dear, Captain," said the conscientious pedlar, "what wad ye hae had twa poor folk to do? There was yoursell gane that aught the things, and Maister Mordaunt was gane that had them in keeping, and the things were but damply put up, where they were rotting with moth and mould, and"---- "And so this old thief sold them, and you bought them, I suppose, just to keep them from spoiling?" said Cleveland. "Weel then," said the merchant, "I'm thinking, noble Captain, that wad be just the gate of it." "Well then, hark ye, you impudent scoundrel," said the Captain. "I do not wish to dirty my fingers with you, or to make any disturbance in this place"---- "Good reason for that, Captain--aha!" said the Jagger, slyly. "I will break your bones if you speak another word," replied Cleveland. "Take notice--I offer you fair terms--give me back the black leathern pocket-book with the lock upon it, and the purse with the doubloons, with some few of the clothes I want, and keep the rest in the devil's name!" "Doubloons!!!"--exclaimed the Jagger, with an exaltation of voice intended to indicate the utmost extremity of surprise,--"What do I ken of doubloons? my dealing was for doublets, and not for doubloons--If there were doubloons in the kist, doubtless Swertha will have them in safe keeping for your honour--the damp wouldna harm the gold, ye ken." "Give me back my pocket-book and my goods, you rascally thief," said Cleveland, "or without a word more I will beat your brains out!" The wily Jagger, casting eye around him, saw that succour was near, in the shape of a party of officers, six in number; for several rencontres with the crew of the pirate had taught the magistrates of Kirkwall to strengthen their police parties when these strangers were in question. "Ye had better keep the _thief_ to suit yoursell, honoured Captain," said the Jagger, emboldened by the approach of the civil power; "for wha kens how a' these fine goods and bonny-dies were come by?" This was uttered with such provoking slyness of look and tone, that Cleveland made no further delay, but, seizing upon the Jagger by the collar, dragged him over his temporary counter, which was, with all the goods displayed thereon, overset in the scuffle; and, holding him with one hand, inflicted on him with the other a severe beating with his cane. All this was done so suddenly and with such energy, that Bryce Snailsfoot, though rather a stout man, was totally surprised by the vivacity of the attack, and made scarce any other effort at extricating himself than by roaring for assistance like a bull-calf. The "loitering aid" having at length come up, the officers made an effort to seize on Cleveland, and by their united exertions succeeded in compelling him to quit hold of the pedlar, in order to defend himself from their assault. This he did with infinite strength, resolution, and dexterity, being at the same time well seconded by his friend Jack Bunce, who had seen with glee the drubbing sustained by the pedlar, and now combated tightly to save his companion from the consequences. But, as there had been for some time a growing feud between the townspeople and the crew of the Rover, the former, provoked by the insolent deportment of the seamen, had resolved to stand by each other, and to aid the civil power upon such occasions of riot as should occur in future; and so many assistants came up to the rescue of the constables, that Cleveland, after fighting most manfully, was at length brought to the ground and made prisoner. His more fortunate companion had escaped by speed of foot, as soon as he saw that the day must needs be determined against them. The proud heart of Cleveland, which, even in its perversion, had in its feelings something of original nobleness, was like to burst, when he felt himself borne down in this unworthy brawl--dragged into the town as a prisoner, and hurried through the streets towards the Council-house, where the magistrates of the burgh were then seated in council. The probability of imprisonment, with all its consequences, rushed also upon his mind, and he cursed an hundred times the folly which had not rather submitted to the pedlar's knavery, than involved him in so perilous an embarrassment. But just as they approached the door of the Council-house, which is situated in the middle of the little town, the face of matters was suddenly changed by a new and unexpected incident. Bunce, who had designed, by his precipitate retreat, to serve as well his friend as himself, had hied him to the haven, where the boat of the Rover was then lying, and called the cockswain and boat's crew to the assistance of Cleveland. They now appeared on the scene--fierce desperadoes, as became their calling, with features bronzed by the tropical sun under which they had pursued it. They rushed at once amongst the crowd, laying about them with their stretchers; and, forcing their way up to Cleveland, speedily delivered him from the hands of the officers, who were totally unprepared to resist an attack so furious and so sudden, and carried him off in triumph towards the quay,--two or three of their number facing about from time to time to keep back the crowd, whose efforts to recover the prisoner were the less violent, that most of the seamen were armed with pistols and cutlasses, as well as with the less lethal weapons which alone they had as yet made use of. They gained their boat in safety, and jumped into it, carrying along with them Cleveland, to whom circumstances seemed to offer no other refuge, and pushed off for their vessel, singing in chorus to their oars an old ditty, of which the natives of Kirkwall could only hear the first stanza: "Robin Rover Said to his crew, 'Up with the black flag, Down with the blue!-- Fire on the main-top, Fire on the bow, Fire on the gun-deck, Fire down below!'" The wild chorus of their voices was heard long after the words ceased to be intelligible.--And thus was the pirate Cleveland again thrown almost involuntarily amongst those desperate associates, from whom he had so often resolved to detach himself. FOOTNOTES: [31] It was anciently a custom at Saint Olla's Fair at Kirkwall, that the young people of the lower class, and of either sex, associated in pairs for the period of the Fair, during which the couple were termed Lambmas brother and sister. It is easy to conceive that the exclusive familiarity arising out of this custom was liable to abuse, the rather that it is said little scandal was attached to the indiscretions which it occasioned. CHAPTER XIII. Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom, And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure, Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spirits.-- So, when famed Prosper doff'd his magic robe, It was Miranda pluck'd it from his shoulders. _Old Play._ Our wandering narrative must now return to Mordaunt Mertoun.--We left him in the perilous condition of one who has received a severe wound, and we now find him in the condition of a convalescent--pale, indeed, and feeble from the loss of much blood, and the effects of a fever which had followed the injury, but so far fortunate, that the weapon, having glanced on the ribs, had only occasioned a great effusion of blood, without touching any vital part, and was now wellnigh healed; so efficacious were the vulnerary plants and salves with which it had been treated by the sage Norna of Fitful-head. The matron and her patient now sat together in a dwelling in a remote island. He had been transported, during his illness, and ere he had perfect consciousness, first to her singular habitation near Fitful-head, and thence to her present abode, by one of the fishing-boats on the station of Burgh-Westra. For such was the command possessed by Norna over the superstitious character of her countrymen, that she never failed to find faithful agents to execute her commands, whatever these happened to be; and, as her orders were generally given under injunctions of the strictest secrecy, men reciprocally wondered at occurrences, which had in fact been produced by their own agency, and that of their neighbours, and in which, had they communicated freely with each other, no shadow of the marvellous would have remained. Mordaunt was now seated by the fire, in an apartment indifferently well furnished, having a book in his hand, which he looked upon from time to time with signs of ennui and impatience; feelings which at length so far overcame him, that, flinging the volume on the table, he fixed his eyes on the fire, and assumed the attitude of one who is engaged in unpleasant meditation. Norna, who sat opposite to him, and appeared busy in the composition of some drug or unguent, anxiously left her seat, and, approaching Mordaunt, felt his pulse, making at the same time the most affectionate enquiries whether he felt any sudden pain, and where it was seated. The manner in which Mordaunt replied to these earnest enquiries, although worded so as to express gratitude for her kindness, while he disclaimed any feeling of indisposition, did not seem to give satisfaction to the Pythoness. "Ungrateful boy!" she said, "for whom I have done so much; you whom I have rescued, by my power and skill, from the very gates of death,--are you already so weary of me, that you cannot refrain from showing how desirous you are to spend, at a distance from me, the very first intelligent days of the life which I have restored you?" "You do me injustice, my kind preserver," replied Mordaunt; "I am not tired of your society; but I have duties which recall me to ordinary life." "Duties!" repeated Norna; "and what duties can or ought to interfere with the gratitude which you owe to me?--Duties! Your thoughts are on the use of your gun, or on clambering among the rocks in quest of sea-fowl. For these exercises your strength doth not yet fit you; and yet these are the duties to which you are so anxious to return!" "Not so, my good and kind mistress," said Mordaunt.--"To name one duty, out of many, which makes me seek to leave you, now that my strength permits, let me mention that of a son to his father." "To your father!" said Norna, with a laugh that had something in it almost frantic. "O! you know not how we can, in these islands, at once cancel such duties! And, for your father," she added, proceeding more calmly, "what has he done for you, to deserve the regard and duty you speak of?--Is he not the same, who, as you have long since told me, left you for so many years poorly nourished among strangers, without enquiring whether you were alive or dead, and only sending, from time to time, supplies in such fashion, as men relieve the leprous wretch to whom they fling alms from a distance? And, in these later years, when he had made you the companion of his misery, he has been, by starts your pedagogue, by starts your tormentor, but never, Mordaunt, never your father." "Something of truth there is in what you say," replied Mordaunt: "My father is not fond; but he is, and has ever been, effectively kind. Men have not their affections in their power; and it is a child's duty to be grateful for the benefits which he receives, even when coldly bestowed. My father has conferred instruction on me, and I am convinced he loves me. He is unfortunate; and, even if he loved me not"---- "And he does _not_ love you," said Norna, hastily; "he never loved any thing, or any one, save himself. He is unfortunate, but well are his misfortunes deserved.--O Mordaunt, you have one parent only,--one parent, who loves you as the drops of the heart-blood!" "I know I have but one parent," replied Mordaunt; "my mother has been long dead.--But your words contradict each other." "They do not--they do not," said Norna, in a paroxysm of the deepest feeling; "you have but one parent. Your unhappy mother is not dead--I would to God that she were!--but she is not dead. Thy mother is the only parent that loves thee; and I--I, Mordaunt," throwing herself on his neck, "am that most unhappy--yet most happy mother." She closed him in a strict and convulsive embrace; and tears, the first, perhaps, which she had shed for many years, burst in torrents as she sobbed on his neck. Astonished at what he heard, felt, and saw,--moved by the excess of her agitation, yet disposed to ascribe this burst of passion to insanity,--Mordaunt vainly endeavoured to tranquillize the mind of this extraordinary person. "Ungrateful boy!" she said, "who but a mother would have watched over thee as I have watched? From the instant I saw thy father, when he little thought by whom he was observed, a space now many years back, I knew him well; and, under his charge, I saw you, then a stripling,--while Nature, speaking loud in my bosom, assured me, thou wert blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. Think how often you have wondered to see me, when least expected, in your places of pastime and resort! Think how often my eye has watched you on the giddy precipices, and muttered those charms which subdue the evil demons, who show themselves to the climber on the giddiest point of his path, and force him to quit his hold! Did I not hang around thy neck, in pledge of thy safety, that chain of gold, which an Elfin King gave to the founder of our race? Would I have given that dear gift to any but to the son of my bosom?--Mordaunt, my power has done that for thee that a mere mortal mother would dread to think of. I have conjured the Mermaid at midnight, that thy bark might be prosperous on the Haaf! I have hushed the winds, and navies have flapped their empty sails against the mast in inactivity, that you might safely indulge your sport upon the crags!" Mordaunt, perceiving that she was growing yet wilder in her talk, endeavoured to frame an answer which should be at once indulgent, soothing, and calculated to allay the rising warmth of her imagination. "Dear Norna," he said, "I have indeed many reasons to call you mother, who have bestowed so many benefits upon me; and from me you shall ever receive the affection and duty of a child. But the chain you mentioned, it has vanished from my neck--I have not seen it since the ruffian stabbed me." "Alas! and can you think of it at this moment?" said Norna, in a sorrowful accent.--"But be it so;--and know, it was I took it from thy neck, and tied it around the neck of her who is dearest to you; in token that the union betwixt you, which has been the only earthly wish which I have had the power to form, shall yet, even yet, be accomplished--ay, although hell should open to forbid the bans!" "Alas!" said Mordaunt, with a sigh, "you remember not the difference betwixt our situation--her father is wealthy, and of ancient birth." "Not more wealthy than will be the heir of Norna of Fitful-head," answered the Pythoness--"not of better or more ancient blood than that which flows in thy veins, derived from thy mother, the descendant of the same Jarls and Sea-Kings from whom Magnus boasts his origin.--Or dost thou think, like the pedant and fanatic strangers who have come amongst us, that thy blood is dishonoured because my union with thy father did not receive the sanction of a priest?--Know, that we were wedded after the ancient manner of the Norse--our hands were clasped within the circle of Odin,[32] with such deep vows of eternal fidelity, as even the laws of these usurping Scots would have sanctioned as equivalent to a blessing before the altar. To the offspring of such a union, Magnus has nought to object. It was weak--it was criminal, on my part, but it conveyed no infamy to the birth of my son." The composed and collected manner in which Norna argued these points began to impose upon Mordaunt an incipient belief in the truth of what she said; and, indeed, she added so many circumstances, satisfactorily and rationally connected with each other, as seemed to confute the notion that her story was altogether the delusion of that insanity which sometimes showed itself in her speech and actions. A thousand confused ideas rushed upon him, when he supposed it possible that the unhappy person before him might actually have a right to claim from him the respect and affection due to a parent from a son. He could only surmount them by turning his mind to a different, and scarce less interesting topic, resolving within himself to take time for farther enquiry and mature consideration, ere he either rejected or admitted the claim which Norna preferred upon his affection and duty. His benefactress, at least, she undoubtedly was, and he could not err in paying her, as such, the respect and attention due from a son to a mother; and so far, therefore, he might gratify Norna without otherwise standing committed. "And do you then really think, my mother,--since so you bid me term you,"--said Mordaunt, "that the proud Magnus Troil may, by any inducement, be prevailed upon to relinquish the angry feelings which he has of late adopted towards me, and to permit my addresses to his daughter Brenda?" "Brenda?" repeated Norna--"who talks of Brenda?--it was of Minna that I spoke to you." "But it was of Brenda that I thought," replied Mordaunt, "of her that I now think, and of her alone that I will ever think." "Impossible, my son!" replied Norna. "You cannot be so dull of heart, so poor of spirit, as to prefer the idle mirth and housewife simplicity of the younger sister, to the deep feeling and high mind of the noble-spirited Minna? Who would stoop to gather the lowly violet, that might have the rose for stretching out his hand?" "Some think the lowliest flowers are the sweetest," replied Mordaunt, "and in that faith will I live and die." "You dare not tell me so!" answered Norna, fiercely; then, instantly changing her tone, and taking his hand in the most affectionate manner, she proceeded:--"You must not--you will not tell me so, my dear son--you will not break a mother's heart in the very first hour in which she has embraced her child!--Nay, do not answer, but hear me. You must wed Minna--I have bound around her neck a fatal amulet, on which the happiness of both depends. The labours of my life have for years had this direction. Thus it must be, and not otherwise--Minna must be the bride of my son!" "But is not Brenda equally near, equally dear to you?" replied Mordaunt. "As near in blood," said Norna, "but not so dear, no not half so dear, in affection. Minna's mild, yet high and contemplative spirit, renders her a companion meet for one, whose ways, like mine, are beyond the ordinary paths of this world. Brenda is a thing of common and ordinary life, an idle laugher and scoffer, who would level art with ignorance, and reduce power to weakness, by disbelieving and turning into ridicule whatever is beyond the grasp of her own shallow intellect." "She is, indeed," answered Mordaunt, "neither superstitious nor enthusiastic, and I love her the better for it. Remember also, my mother, that she returns my affection, and that Minna, if she loves any one, loves the stranger Cleveland." "She does not--she dares not," answered Norna, "nor dares he pursue her farther. I told him, when first he came to Burgh-Westra, that I destined her for you." "And to that rash annunciation," said Mordaunt, "I owe this man's persevering enmity--my wound, and wellnigh the loss of my life. See, my mother, to what point your intrigues have already conducted us, and, in Heaven's name, prosecute them no farther!" It seemed as if this reproach struck Norna with the force, at once, and vivacity of lightning; for she struck her forehead with her hand, and seemed about to drop from her seat. Mordaunt, greatly shocked, hastened to catch her in his arms, and, though scarce knowing what to say, attempted to utter some incoherent expressions. "Spare me, Heaven, spare me!" were the first words which she muttered; "do not let my crime be avenged by his means!--Yes, young man," she said, after a pause, "you have dared to tell what I dared not tell myself. You have pressed that upon me, which, if it be truth, I cannot believe, and yet continue to live!" Mordaunt in vain endeavoured to interrupt her with protestations of his ignorance how he had offended or grieved her, and of his extreme regret that he had unintentionally done either. She proceeded, while her voice trembled wildly, with vehemence. "Yes! you have touched on that dark suspicion which poisons the consciousness of my power,--the sole boon which was given me in exchange for innocence and for peace of mind! Your voice joins that of the demon which, even while the elements confess me their mistress, whispers to me, 'Norna, this is but delusion--your power rests but in the idle belief of the ignorant, supported by a thousand petty artifices of your own.'--This is what Brenda says--this is what you would say; and false, scandalously false, as it is, there are rebellious thoughts in this wild brain of mine," (touching her forehead with her finger as she spoke,) "that, like an insurrection in an invaded country, arise to take part against their distressed sovereign.--Spare me, my son!" she continued in a voice of supplication, "spare me!--the sovereignty of which your words would deprive me, is no enviable exaltation. Few would covet to rule over gibbering ghosts, and howling winds, and raging currents. My throne is a cloud, my sceptre a meteor, my realm is only peopled with fantasies; but I must either cease to be, or continue to be the mightiest as well as the most miserable of beings!"[33] "Do not speak thus mournfully, my dear and unhappy benefactress," said Mordaunt, much affected; "I will think of your power whatever you would have me believe. But, for your own sake, view the matter otherwise. Turn your thoughts from such agitating and mystical studies--from such wild subjects of contemplation, into another and a better channel. Life will again have charms, and religion will have comforts, for you." She listened to him with some composure, as if she weighed his counsel, and desired to be guided by it; but, as he ended, she shook her head and exclaimed-- "It cannot be. I must remain the dreaded--the mystical--the Reimkennar--the controller of the elements, or I must be no more! I have no alternative, no middle station. My post must be high on yon lofty headland, where never stood human foot save mine--or I must sleep at the bottom of the unfathomable ocean, its white billows booming over my senseless corpse. The parricide shall never also be denounced as the impostor!" "The parricide!" echoed Mordaunt, stepping back in horror. "Yes, my son!" answered Norna, with a stern composure, even more frightful than her former impetuosity, "within these fatal walls my father met his death by my means. In yonder chamber was he found a livid and lifeless corpse. Beware of filial disobedience, for such are its fruits!" So saying, she arose and left the apartment, where Mordaunt remained alone to meditate at leisure upon the extraordinary communication which he had received. He himself had been taught by his father a disbelief in the ordinary superstitions of Zetland; and he now saw that Norna, however ingenious in duping others, could not altogether impose on herself. This was a strong circumstance in favour of her sanity of intellect; but, on the other hand, her imputing to herself the guilt of parricide seemed so wild and improbable, as, in Mordaunt's opinion, to throw much doubt upon her other assertions. He had leisure enough to make up his mind on these particulars, for no one approached the solitary dwelling, of which Norna, her dwarf, and he himself, were the sole inhabitants. The Hoy island in which it stood is rude, bold, and lofty, consisting entirely of three hills--or rather one huge mountain divided into three summits, with the chasms, rents, and valleys, which descend from its summit to the sea, while its crest, rising to great height, and shivered into rocks which seem almost inaccessible, intercepts the mists as they drive from the Atlantic, and, often obscured from the human eye, forms the dark and unmolested retreat of hawks, eagles, and other birds of prey.[34] The soil of the island is wet, mossy, cold, and unproductive, presenting a sterile and desolate appearance, excepting where the sides of small rivulets, or mountain ravines, are fringed with dwarf bushes of birch, hazel, and wild currant, some of them so tall as to be denominated trees, in that bleak and bare country. But the view of the sea-beach, which was Mordaunt's favourite walk, when his convalescent state began to permit him to take exercise, had charms which compensated the wild appearance of the interior. A broad and beautiful sound, or strait, divides this lonely and mountainous island from Pomona, and in the centre of that sound lies, like a tablet composed of emerald, the beautiful and verdant little island of Græmsay. On the distant Mainland is seen the town or village of Stromness, the excellence of whose haven is generally evinced by a considerable number of shipping in the roadstead, and, from the bay growing narrower, and lessening as it recedes, runs inland into Pomona, where its tide fills the fine sheet of water called the Loch of Stennis. On this beach Mordaunt was wont to wander for hours, with an eye not insensible to the beauties of the view, though his thoughts were agitated with the most embarrassing meditations on his own situation. He was resolved to leave the island as soon as the establishment of his health should permit him to travel; yet gratitude to Norna, of whom he was at least the adopted, if not the real son, would not allow him to depart without her permission, even if he could obtain means of conveyance, of which he saw little possibility. It was only by importunity that he extorted from his hostess a promise, that, if he would consent to regulate his motions according to her directions, she would herself convey him to the capital of the Orkney Islands, when the approaching Fair of Saint Olla should take place there. FOOTNOTES: [32] See an explanation of this promise, Note II. of this volume. [33] Note V.--Character of Norna. [34] Note VI.--Birds of Prey. CHAPTER XIV. Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer; Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words Clash with each other like conflicting swords-- The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown, And true men have some chance to gain their own. _Captivity, a Poem._ When Cleveland, borne off in triumph from his assailants in Kirkwall, found himself once more on board the pirate-vessel, his arrival was hailed with hearty cheers by a considerable part of the crew, who rushed to shake hands with him, and offer their congratulations on his return; for the situation of a Buccanier Captain raised him very little above the level of the lowest of his crew, who, in all social intercourse, claimed the privilege of being his equal. When his faction, for so these clamorous friends might be termed, had expressed their own greetings, they hurried Cleveland forward to the stern, where Goffe, their present commander, was seated on a gun, listening in a sullen and discontented mood to the shout which announced Cleveland's welcome. He was a man betwixt forty and fifty, rather under the middle size, but so very strongly made, that his crew used to compare him to a sixty-four cut down. Black-haired, bull-necked, and beetle-browed, his clumsy strength and ferocious countenance contrasted strongly with the manly figure and open countenance of Cleveland, in which even the practice of his atrocious profession had not been able to eradicate a natural grace of motion and generosity of expression. The two piratical Captains looked upon each other for some time in silence, while the partisans of each gathered around him. The elder part of the crew were the principal adherents of Goffe, while the young fellows, among whom Jack Bunce was a principal leader and agitator, were in general attached to Cleveland. At length Goffe broke silence.--"You are welcome aboard, Captain Cleveland.--Smash my taffrail! I suppose you think yourself commodore yet! but that was over, by G--, when you lost your ship, and be d----d!" And here, once for all, we may take notice, that it was the gracious custom of this commander to mix his words and oaths in nearly equal proportions, which he was wont to call _shotting_ his discourse. As we delight not, however, in the discharge of such artillery, we shall only indicate by a space like this ---- the places in which these expletives occurred; and thus, if the reader will pardon a very poor pun, we will reduce Captain Goffe's volley of sharp-shot into an explosion of blank cartridges. To his insinuations that he was come on board to assume the chief command, Cleveland replied, that he neither desired, nor would accept, any such promotion, but would only ask Captain Goffe for a cast of the boat, to put him ashore in one of the other islands, as he had no wish either to command Goffe, or to remain in a vessel under his orders. "And why not under my orders, brother?" demanded Goffe, very austerely; "-- -- -- are you too good a man, -- -- -- with your cheese-toaster and your jib there, -- -- to serve under my orders, and be d----d to you, where there are so many gentlemen that are elder and better seamen than yourself?" "I wonder which of these capital seamen it was," said Cleveland, coolly, "that laid the ship under the fire of yon six-gun battery, that could blow her out of the water, if they had a mind, before you could either cut or slip? Elder and better sailors than I may like to serve under such a lubber, but I beg to be excused for my own share, Captain--that's all I have got to tell you." "By G--, I think you are both mad!" said Hawkins the boatswain--"a meeting with sword and pistol may be devilish good fun in its way, when no better is to be had; but who the devil that had common sense, amongst a set of gentlemen in our condition, would fall a quarrelling with each other, to let these duck-winged, web-footed islanders have a chance of knocking us all upon the head?" "Well said, old Hawkins!" observed Derrick the quarter-master, who was an officer of very considerable importance among these rovers; "I say, if the two captains won't agree to live together quietly, and club both heart and head to defend the vessel, why, d----n me, depose them both, say I, and choose another in their stead!" "Meaning yourself, I suppose, Master Quarter-Master!" said Jack Bunce; "but that cock won't fight. He that is to command gentlemen, should be a gentleman himself, I think; and I give my vote for Captain Cleveland, as spirited and as gentleman-like a man as ever daffed the world aside, and bid it pass!" "What! _you_ call yourself a gentleman, I warrant!" retorted Derrick; "why, ---- your eyes! a tailor would make a better out of the worst suit of rags in your strolling wardrobe!--It is a shame for men of spirit to have such a Jack-a-dandy scarecrow on board!" Jack Bunce was so incensed at these base comparisons, that without more ado, he laid his hand on his sword. The carpenter, however, and boatswain, interfered, the former brandishing his broad axe, and swearing he would put the skull of the first who should strike a blow past clouting, and the latter reminding them, that, by their articles, all quarrelling, striking, or more especially fighting, on board, was strictly prohibited; and that, if any gentleman had a quarrel to settle, they were to go ashore, and decide it with cutlass and pistol in presence of two of their messmates. "I have no quarrel with any one, -- -- --!" said Goffe, sullenly; "Captain Cleveland has wandered about among the islands here, amusing himself, -- -- --! and we have wasted our time and property in waiting for him, when we might have been adding twenty or thirty thousand dollars to the stock-purse. However, if it pleases the rest of the gentlemen-adventurers, -- -- --! why, I shall not grumble about it." "I propose," said the boatswain, "that there should be a general council called in the great cabin, according to our articles, that we may consider what course we are to hold in this matter." A general assent followed the boatswain's proposal; for every one found his own account in these general councils, in which each of the rovers had a free vote. By far the greater part of the crew only valued this franchise, as it allowed them, upon such solemn occasions, an unlimited quantity of liquor--a right which they failed not to exercise to the uttermost, by way of aiding their deliberations. But a few amongst the adventurers, who united some degree of judgment with the daring and profligate character of their profession, were wont, at such periods, to limit themselves within the bounds of comparative sobriety, and by these, under the apparent form of a vote of the general council, all things of moment relating to the voyage and undertakings of the pirates were in fact determined. The rest of the crew, when they recovered from their intoxication, were easily persuaded that the resolution adopted had been the legitimate effort of the combined wisdom of the whole senate. Upon the present occasion the debauch had proceeded until the greater part of the crew were, as usual, displaying inebriation in all its most brutal and disgraceful shapes--swearing empty and unmeaning oaths--venting the most horrid imprecations in the mere gaiety of their heart--singing songs, the ribaldry of which was only equalled by their profaneness; and, from the middle of this earthly hell, the two captains, together with one or two of their principal adherents, as also the carpenter and boatswain, who always took a lead on such occasions, had drawn together into a pandemonium, or privy council of their own, to consider what was to be done; for, as the boatswain metaphorically observed, they were in a narrow channel, and behoved to keep sounding the tide-way. When they began their consultations, the friends of Goffe remarked, to their great displeasure, that he had not observed the wholesome rule to which we have just alluded; but that, in endeavouring to drown his mortification at the sudden appearance of Cleveland, and the reception he met with from the crew, the elder Captain had not been able to do so without overflowing his reason at the same time. His natural sullen taciturnity had prevented this from being observed until the council began its deliberations, when it proved impossible to hide it. The first person who spoke was Cleveland, who said, that, so far from wishing the command of the vessel, he desired no favour at any one's hand, except to land him upon some island or holm at a distance from Kirkwall, and leave him to shift for himself. The boatswain remonstrated strongly against this resolution. "The lads," he said, "all knew Cleveland, and could trust his seamanship, as well as his courage; besides, he never let the grog get quite uppermost, and was always in proper trim, either to sail the ship, or to fight the ship, whereby she was never without some one to keep her course when he was on board.--And as for the noble Captain Goffe," continued the mediator, "he is as stout a heart as ever broke biscuit, and that I will uphold him; but then, when he has his grog aboard--I speak to his face--he is so d----d funny with his cranks and his jests, that there is no living with him. You all remember how nigh he had run the ship on that cursed Horse of Copinsha, as they call it, just by way of frolic; and then you know how he fired off his pistol under the table, when we were at the great council, and shot Jack Jenkins in the knee, and cost the poor devil his leg, with his pleasantry."[35] "Jack Jenkins was not a chip the worse," said the carpenter; "I took the leg off with my saw as well as any loblolly-boy in the land could have done--heated my broad axe, and seared the stump--ay, by ----! and made a jury-leg that he shambles about with as well as ever he did--for Jack could never cut a feather."[36] "You are a clever fellow, carpenter," replied the boatswain, "a d----d clever fellow! but I had rather you tried your saw and red-hot axe upon the ship's knee-timbers than on mine, sink me!--But that here is not the case--The question is, if we shall part with Captain Cleveland here, who is a man of thought and action, whereby it is my belief it would be heaving the pilot overboard when the gale is blowing on a lee-shore. And, I must say, it is not the part of a true heart to leave his mates, who have been here waiting for him till they have missed stays. Our water is wellnigh out, and we have junketed till provisions are low with us. We cannot sail without provisions--we cannot get provisions without the good-will of the Kirkwall folks. If we remain here longer, the Halcyon frigate will be down upon us--she was seen off Peterhead two days since,--and we shall hang up at the yard-arm to be sun-dried. Now, Captain Cleveland will get us out of the hobble, if any can. He can play the gentleman with these Kirkwall folks, and knows how to deal with them on fair terms, and foul, too, if there be occasion for it." "And so you would turn honest Captain Goffe a-grazing, would ye?" said an old weatherbeaten pirate, who had but one eye; "what though he has his humours, and made my eye dowse the glim in his fancies and frolics, he is as honest a man as ever walked a quarter-deck, for all that; and d----n me but I stand by him so long as t'other lantern is lit!" "Why, you would not hear me out," said Hawkins; "a man might as well talk to so many negers!--I tell you, I propose that Cleveland shall only be Captain from one, _post meridiem_, to five _a. m._, during which time Goffe is always drunk." The Captain of whom he last spoke gave sufficient proof of the truth of his words, by uttering an inarticulate growl, and attempting to present a pistol at the mediator Hawkins. "Why, look ye now!" said Derrick, "there is all the sense he has, to get drunk on council-day, like one of these poor silly fellows!" "Ay," said Bunce, "drunk as Davy's sow, in the face of the field, the fray, and the senate!" "But, nevertheless," continued Derrick, "it will never do to have two captains in the same day. I think week about might suit better--and let Cleveland take the first turn." "There are as good here as any of them," said Hawkins; "howsomdever, I object nothing to Captain Cleveland, and I think he may help us into deep water as well as another." "Ay," exclaimed Bunce, "and a better figure he will make at bringing these Kirkwallers to order than his sober predecessor!--So Captain Cleveland for ever!" [Illustration] "Stop, gentlemen," said Cleveland, who had hitherto been silent; "I hope you will not choose me Captain without my own consent?" "Ay, by the blue vault of heaven will we," said Bunce, "if it be _pro bono publico_!" "But hear me, at least," said Cleveland--"I do consent to take command of the vessel, since you wish it, and because I see you will ill get out of the scrape without me." "Why, then, I say, Cleveland for ever, again!" shouted Bunce. "Be quiet, prithee, dear Bunce!--honest Altamont!" said Cleveland.--"I undertake the business on this condition; that, when I have got the ship cleared for her voyage, with provisions, and so forth, you will be content to restore Captain Goffe to the command, as I said before, and put me ashore somewhere, to shift for myself--You will then be sure it is impossible I can betray you, since I will remain with you to the last moment." "Ay, and after the last moment, too, by the blue vault! or I mistake the matter," muttered Bunce to himself. The matter was now put to the vote; and so confident were the crew in Cleveland's superior address and management, that the temporary deposition of Goffe found little resistance even among his own partisans, who reasonably enough observed, "he might at least have kept sober to look after his own business--E'en let him put it to rights again himself next morning, if he will." But when the next morning came, the drunken part of the crew, being informed of the issue of the deliberations of the council, to which they were virtually held to have assented, showed such a superior sense of Cleveland's merits, that Goffe, sulky and malecontent as he was, judged it wisest for the present to suppress his feelings of resentment, until a safer opportunity for suffering them to explode, and to submit to the degradation which so frequently took place among a piratical crew. Cleveland, on his part, resolved to take upon him, with spirit and without loss of time, the task of extricating his ship's company from their perilous situation. For this purpose, he ordered the boat, with the purpose of going ashore in person, carrying with him twelve of the stoutest and best men of the crew, all very handsomely appointed, (for the success of their nefarious profession had enabled the pirates to assume nearly as gay dresses as their officers,) and above all, each man being sufficiently armed with cutlass and pistols, and several having pole-axes and poniards. Cleveland himself was gallantly attired in a blue coat, lined with crimson silk, and laced with gold very richly, crimson damask waistcoat and breeches, a velvet cap, richly embroidered, with a white feather, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes, which were the extremity of finery among the gallants of the day. He had a gold chain several times folded round his neck, which sustained a whistle of the same metal, the ensign of his authority. Above all, he wore a decoration peculiar to those daring depredators, who, besides one, or perhaps two brace of pistols at their belt, had usually two additional brace, of the finest mounting and workmanship, suspended over their shoulders in a sort of sling or scarf of crimson ribbon. The hilt and mounting of the Captain's sword corresponded in value to the rest of his appointments, and his natural good mien was so well adapted to the whole equipment, that, when he appeared on deck, he was received with a general shout by the crew, who, as in other popular societies, judged a great deal by the eye. Cleveland took with him in the boat, amongst others, his predecessor in office, Goffe, who was also very richly dressed, but who, not having the advantage of such an exterior as Cleveland's, looked like a boorish clown in the dress of a courtier, or rather like a vulgar-faced footpad decked in the spoils of some one whom he has murdered, and whose claim to the property of his garments is rendered doubtful in the eyes of all who look upon him, by the mixture of awkwardness, remorse, cruelty, and insolence, which clouds his countenance. Cleveland probably chose to take Goffe ashore with him, to prevent his having any opportunity, during his absence, to debauch the crew from their allegiance. In this guise they left the ship, and, singing to their oars, while the water foamed higher at the chorus, soon reached the quay of Kirkwall. The command of the vessel was in the meantime intrusted to Bunce, upon whose allegiance Cleveland knew that he might perfectly depend, and, in a private conversation with him of some length, he gave him directions how to act in such emergencies as might occur. These arrangements being made, and Bunce having been repeatedly charged to stand upon his guard alike against the adherents of Goffe and any attempt from the shore, the boat put off. As she approached the harbour, Cleveland displayed a white flag, and could observe that their appearance seemed to occasion a good deal of bustle and alarm. People were seen running to and fro, and some of them appeared to be getting under arms. The battery was manned hastily, and the English colours displayed. These were alarming symptoms, the rather that Cleveland knew, that, though there were no artillerymen in Kirkwall, yet there were many sailors perfectly competent to the management of great guns, and willing enough to undertake such service in case of need. Noting these hostile preparations with a heedful eye, but suffering nothing like doubt or anxiety to appear on his countenance, Cleveland ran the boat right for the quay, on which several people, armed with muskets, rifles, and fowlingpieces, and others with half-pikes and whaling-knives, were now assembled, as if to oppose his landing. Apparently, however, they had not positively determined what measures they were to pursue; for, when the boat reached the quay, those immediately opposite bore back, and suffered Cleveland and his party to leap ashore without hinderance. They immediately drew up on the quay, except two, who, as their Captain had commanded, remained in the boat, which they put off to a little distance; a man[oe]uvre which, while it placed the boat (the only one belonging to the sloop) out of danger of being seized, indicated a sort of careless confidence in Cleveland and his party, which was calculated to intimidate their opponents. The Kirkwallers, however, showed the old Northern blood, put a manly face upon the matter, and stood upon the quay, with their arms shouldered, directly opposite to the rovers, and blocking up against them the street which leads to the town. Cleveland was the first who spoke, as the parties stood thus looking upon each other.--"How is this, gentlemen burghers?" he said; "are you Orkney folks turned Highlandmen, that you are all under arms so early this morning; or have you manned the quay to give me the honour of a salute, upon taking the command of my ship?" The burghers looked on each other, and one of them replied to Cleveland--"We do not know who you are; it was that other man," pointing to Goffe, "who used to come ashore as Captain." "That other gentleman is my mate, and commands in my absence," said Cleveland;--"but what is that to the purpose? I wish to speak with your Lord Mayor, or whatever you call him." "The Provost is sitting in council with the Magistrates," answered the spokesman. "So much the better," replied Cleveland.--"Where do their Worships meet?" "In the Council-house," answered the other. "Then make way for us, gentlemen, if you please, for my people and I are going there." There was a whisper among the townspeople; but several were unresolved upon engaging in a desperate, and perhaps an unnecessary conflict, with desperate men; and the more determined citizens formed the hasty reflection that the strangers might be more easily mastered in the house, or perhaps in the narrow streets which they had to traverse, than when they stood drawn up and prepared for battle upon the quay. They suffered them, therefore, to proceed unmolested; and Cleveland, moving very slowly, keeping his people close together, suffering no one to press upon the flanks of his little detachment, and making four men, who constituted his rear-guard, turn round and face to the rear from time to time, rendered it, by his caution, a very dangerous task to make any attempt upon them. In this manner they ascended the narrow street and reached the Council-house, where the Magistrates were actually sitting, as the citizen had informed Cleveland. Here the inhabitants began to press forward, with the purpose of mingling with the pirates, and availing themselves of the crowd in the narrow entrance, to secure as many as they could, without allowing them room for the free use of their weapons. But this also had Cleveland foreseen, and, ere entering the council-room, he caused the entrance to be cleared and secured, commanding four of his men to face down the street, and as many to confront the crowd who were thrusting each other from above. The burghers recoiled back from the ferocious, swarthy, and sunburnt countenances, as well as the levelled arms of these desperadoes, and Cleveland, with the rest of his party, entered the council-room, where the Magistrates were sitting in council, with very little attendance. These gentlemen were thus separated effectually from the citizens, who looked to them for orders, and were perhaps more completely at the mercy of Cleveland, than he, with his little handful of men, could be said to be at that of the multitude by whom they were surrounded. The Magistrates seemed sensible of their danger; for they looked upon each other in some confusion, when Cleveland thus addressed them:-- "Good morrow, gentlemen,--I hope there is no unkindness betwixt us. I am come to talk with you about getting supplies for my ship yonder in the roadstead--we cannot sail without them." "Your ship, sir?" said the Provost, who was a man of sense and spirit,--"how do we know that you are her Captain?" "Look at me," said Cleveland, "and you will, I think, scarce ask the question again." The Magistrate looked at Kim, and accordingly did not think proper to pursue that part of the enquiry, but proceeded to say--"And if you are her Captain, whence comes she, and where is she bound for? You look too much like a man-of-war's man to be master of a trader, and we know that you do not belong to the British navy." "There are more men-of-war on the sea than sail under the British flag," replied Cleveland; "but say that I were commander of a free-trader here, willing to exchange tobacco, brandy, gin, and such like, for cured fish and hides, why, I do not think I deserve so very bad usage from the merchants of Kirkwall as to deny me provisions for my money?" "Look you, Captain," said the Town-clerk, "it is not that we are so very strait-laced neither--for, when gentlemen of your cloth come this way, it is as weel, as I tauld the Provost, just to do as the collier did when he met the devil,--and that is, to have naething to say to them, if they have naething to say to us;--and there is the gentleman," pointing to Goffe, "that was Captain before you, and may be Captain after you,"--("The cuckold speaks truth in that," muttered Goffe,)--"he knows well how handsomely we entertained him, till he and his men took upon them to run through the town like hellicat devils.--I see one of them there!--that was the very fellow that stopped my servant-wench on the street, as she carried the lantern home before me, and insulted her before my face!" "If it please your noble Mayorship's honour and glory," said Derrick, the fellow at whom the Town-clerk pointed, "it was not I that brought to the bit of a tender that carried the lantern in the poop--it was quite a different sort of a person." "Who was it, then, sir?" said the Provost. "Why, please your majesty's worship," said Derrick, making several sea bows, and describing as nearly as he could, the exterior of the worthy Magistrate himself, "he was an elderly gentleman,--Dutch-built, round in the stern, with a white wig and a red nose--very like your majesty, I think;" then, turning to a comrade, he added, "Jack, don't you think the fellow that wanted to kiss the pretty girl with the lantern t'other night, was very like his worship?" "By G--, Tom Derrick," answered the party appealed to, "I believe it is the very man!" "This is insolence which we can make you repent of, gentlemen!" said the Magistrate, justly irritated at their effrontery; "you have behaved in this town, as if you were in an Indian village at Madagascar. You yourself, Captain, if captain you be, were at the head of another riot, no longer since than yesterday. We will give you no provisions till we know better whom we are supplying. And do not think to bully us; when I shake this handkerchief out at the window, which is at my elbow, your ship goes to the bottom. Remember she lies under the guns of our battery." "And how many of these guns are honeycombed, Mr. Mayor?" said Cleveland. He put the question by chance; but instantly perceived, from a sort of confusion which the Provost in vain endeavoured to hide, that the artillery of Kirkwall was not in the best order. "Come, come, Mr. Mayor," he said, "bullying will go down with us as little as with you. Your guns yonder will do more harm to the poor old sailors who are to work them than to our sloop; and if we bring a broadside to bear on the town, why, your wives' crockery will be in some danger. And then to talk to us of seamen being a little frolicsome ashore, why, when are they otherwise? You have the Greenland whalers playing the devil among you every now and then; and the very Dutchmen cut capers in the streets of Kirkwall, like porpoises before a gale of wind. I am told you are a man of sense, and I am sure you and I could settle this matter in the course of a five-minutes' palaver." "Well, sir," said the Provost, "I will hear what you have to say, if you will walk this way." Cleveland accordingly followed him into a small interior apartment, and, when there, addressed the Provost thus: "I will lay aside my pistols, sir, if you are afraid of them." "D----n your pistols!" answered the Provost, "I have served the King, and fear the smell of powder as little as you do!" "So much the better," said Cleveland, "for you will hear me the more coolly.--Now, sir, let us be what perhaps you suspect us, or let us be any thing else, what, in the name of Heaven, can you get by keeping us here, but blows and bloodshed? For which, believe me, we are much better provided than you can pretend to be. The point is a plain one--you are desirous to be rid of us--we are desirous to be gone. Let us have the means of departure, and we leave you instantly." "Look ye, Captain," said the Provost, "I thirst for no man's blood. You are a pretty fellow, as there were many among the buccaniers in my time--but there is no harm in wishing you a better trade. You should have the stores and welcome, for your money, so you would make these seas clear of you. But then, here lies the rub. The Halcyon frigate is expected here in these parts immediately; when she hears of you she will be at you; for there is nothing the white lapelle loves better than a rover--you are seldom without a cargo of dollars. Well, he comes down, gets you under his stern"---- "Blows us into the air, if you please," said Cleveland. "Nay, that must be as _you_ please, Captain," said the Provost; "but then, what is to come of the good town of Kirkwall, that has been packing and peeling with the King's enemies? The burgh will be laid under a round fine, and it may be that the Provost may not come off so easily." "Well, then," said Cleveland, "I see where your pinch lies. Now, suppose that I run round this island of yours, and get into the roadstead at Stromness? We could get what we want put on board there, without Kirkwall or the Provost seeming to have any hand in it; or, if it should be ever questioned, your want of force, and our superior strength, will make a sufficient apology." "That may be," said the Provost; "but if I suffer you to leave your present station, and go elsewhere, I must have some security that you will not do harm to the country." "And we," said Cleveland, "must have some security on our side, that you will not detain us, by dribbling out our time till the Halcyon is on the coast. Now, I am myself perfectly willing to continue on shore as a hostage, on the one side, provided you will give me your word not to betray me, and send some magistrate, or person of consequence, aboard the sloop, where his safety will be a guarantee for mine." The Provost shook his head, and intimated it would be difficult to find a person willing to place himself as hostage in such a perilous condition; but said he would propose the arrangement to such of the council as were fit to be trusted with a matter of such weight. FOOTNOTES: [35] This was really an exploit of the celebrated Avery the pirate, who suddenly, and without provocation, fired his pistols under the table where he sat drinking with his messmates, wounded one man severely, and thought the matter a good jest. What is still more extraordinary, his crew regarded it in the same light. [36] A ship going fast through the sea is said to cut a feather, alluding to the ripple which she throws off from her bows. CHAPTER XV. "I left my poor plough to go ploughing the deep!" DIBDIN. When the Provost and Cleveland had returned into the public council-room, the former retired a second time with such of his brethren as he thought proper to advise with; and, while they were engaged in discussing Cleveland's proposal, refreshments were offered to him and his party. These the Captain permitted his people to partake of, but with the greatest precaution against surprisal, one party relieving the guard, whilst the others were at their food. He himself, in the meanwhile, walked up and down the apartment, and conversed upon indifferent subjects with those present, like a person quite at his ease. Amongst these individuals he saw, somewhat to his surprise, Triptolemus Yellowley, who, chancing to be at Kirkwall, had been summoned by the Magistrates, as representative, in a certain degree, of the Lord Chamberlain, to attend council on this occasion. Cleveland immediately renewed the acquaintance which he had formed with the agriculturist at Burgh-Westra, and asked him his present business in Orkney. "Just to look after some of my little plans, Captain Cleveland. I am weary of fighting with wild beasts at Ephesus yonder, and I just cam ower to see how my orchard was thriving, whilk I had planted four or five miles from Kirkwall, it may be a year bygane, and how the bees were thriving, whereof I had imported nine skeps, for the improvement of the country, and for the turning of the heather-bloom into wax and honey." "And they thrive, I hope?" said Cleveland, who, however little interested in the matter, sustained the conversation, as if to break the chilly and embarrassed silence which hung upon the company assembled. "Thrive!" replied Triptolemus; "they thrive like every thing else in this country, and that is the backward way." "Want of care, I suppose?" said Cleveland. "The contrary, sir, quite and clean the contrary," replied the Factor; "they died of ower muckle care, like Lucky Christie's chickens.--I asked to see the skeps, and cunning and joyful did the fallow look who was to have taken care of them--'Had there been ony body in charge but mysell,' he said, 'ye might have seen the skeps, or whatever you ca' them; but there wad hae been as mony solan-geese as flees in them, if it hadna been for my four quarters; for I watched them so closely, that I saw them a' creeping out at the little holes one sunny morning, and if I had not stopped the leak on the instant with a bit clay, the deil a bee, or flee, or whatever they are, would have been left in the skeps, as ye ca' them!'--In a word, sir, he had clagged up the hives, as if the puir things had had the pestilence, and my bees were as dead as if they had been smeaked--and so ends my hope, _generandi gloria mellis_, as Virgilius hath it." "There is an end of your mead, then," replied Cleveland; "but what is your chance of cider?--How does the orchard thrive?" "O Captain! this same Solomon of the Orcadian Ophir--I am sure no man need to send thither to fetch either talents of gold or talents of sense!--I say, this wise man had watered the young apple-trees, in his great tenderness, with hot water, and they are perished, root and branch! But what avails grieving?--And I wish you would tell me, instead, what is all the din that these good folks are making about pirates? and what for all these ill-looking men, that are armed like so mony Highlandmen, assembled in the judgment-chamber?--for I am just come from the other side of the island, and I have heard nothing distinct about it.--And, now I look at you yoursell, Captain, I think you have mair of these foolish pistolets about you than should suffice an honest man in quiet times?" "And so I think, too," said the pacific Triton, old Haagen, who had been an unwilling follower of the daring Montrose; "if you had been in the Glen of Edderachyllis, when we were sae sair worried by Sir John Worry"---- "You have forgot the whole matter, neighbour Haagen," said the Factor; "Sir John Urry was on your side, and was ta'en with Montrose; by the same token, he lost his head." "Did he?" said the Triton.--"I believe you may be right; for he changed sides mair than anes, and wha kens whilk he died for?--But always he was there, and so was I;--a fight there was, and I never wish to see another!" The entrance of the Provost here interrupted their desultory conversation.--"We have determined," he said, "Captain, that your ship shall go round to Stromness, or Scalpa-flow, to take in stores, in order that there may be no more quarrels between the Fair folks and your seamen. And as you wish to stay on shore to see the Fair, we intend to send a respectable gentleman on board your vessel to pilot her round the Mainland, as the navigation is but ticklish." "Spoken like a quiet and sensible magistrate, Mr. Mayor," said Cleveland, "and no otherwise than as I expected.--And what gentleman is to honour our quarter-deck during my absence?" "We have fixed that, too, Captain Cleveland," said the Provost; "you may be sure we were each more desirous than another to go upon so pleasant a voyage, and in such good company; but being Fair time, most of us have some affairs in hand--I myself, in respect of my office, cannot be well spared--the eldest Bailie's wife is lying-in--the Treasurer does not agree with the sea--two Bailies have the gout--the other two are absent from town--and the other fifteen members of council are all engaged on particular business." "All that I can tell you, Mr. Mayor," said Cleveland, raising his voice, "is, that I expect"---- "A moment's patience, if you please, Captain," said the Provost, interrupting him--"So that we have come to the resolution that our worthy Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley, who is Factor to the Lord Chamberlain of these islands, shall, in respect of his official situation, be preferred to the honour and pleasure of accompanying you." "Me!" said the astonished Triptolemus; "what the devil should I do going on your voyages?--my business is on dry land!" "The gentlemen want a pilot," said the Provost, whispering to him, "and there is no eviting to give them one." "Do they want to go bump on shore, then?" said the Factor--"how the devil should I pilot them, that never touched rudder in my life?" "Hush!--hush!--be silent!" said the Provost; "if the people of this town heard ye say such a word, your utility, and respect, and rank, and every thing else, is clean gone!--No man is any thing with us island folks, unless he can hand, reef, and steer.--Besides, it is but a mere form; and we will send old Pate Sinclair to help you. You will have nothing to do but to eat, drink, and be merry all day." "Eat and drink!" said the Factor, not able to comprehend exactly why this piece of duty was pressed upon him so hastily, and yet not very capable of resisting or extricating himself from the toils of the more knowing Provost--"Eat and drink?--that is all very well; but, to speak truth, the sea does not agree with me any more than with the Treasurer; and I have always a better appetite for eating and drinking ashore." "Hush! hush! hush!" again said the Provost, in an under tone of earnest expostulation; "would you actually ruin your character out and out?--A Factor of the High Chamberlain of the Isles of Orkney and Zetland, and not like the sea!--you might as well say you are a Highlander, and do not like whisky!" "You must settle it somehow, gentlemen," said Captain Cleveland; "it is time we were under weigh.--Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley, are we to be honoured with your company?" "I am sure, Captain Cleveland," stammered the Factor, "I would have no objection to go anywhere with you--only"---- "He has no objection," said the Provost, catching at the first limb of the sentence, without awaiting the conclusion. "He has no objection," cried the Treasurer. "He has no objection," sung out the whole four Bailies together; and the fifteen Councillors, all catching up the same phrase of assent, repeated it in chorus, with the additions of--"good man"--"public-spirited"--"honourable gentleman"--"burgh eternally obliged"--"where will you find such a worthy Factor?" and so forth. Astonished and confused at the praises with which he was overwhelmed on all sides, and in no shape understanding the nature of the transaction that was going forward, the astounded and overwhelmed agriculturist became incapable of resisting the part of the Kirkwall Curtius thus insidiously forced upon him, and was delivered up by Captain Cleveland to his party, with the strictest injunctions to treat him with honour and attention. Goffe and his companions began now to lead him off, amid the applauses of the whole meeting, after the manner in which the victim of ancient days was garlanded and greeted by shouts, when consigned to the priests, for the purpose of being led to the altar, and knocked on the head, a sacrifice for the commonweal. It was while they thus conducted, and in a manner forced him out of the Council-chamber, that poor Triptolemus, much alarmed at finding that Cleveland, in whom he had some confidence, was to remain behind the party, tried, when just going out at the door, the effect of one remonstrating bellow.--"Nay, but, Provost!--Captain!--Bailies!--Treasurer! Councillors!--if Captain Cleveland does not go aboard to protect me, it is nae bargain, and go I will not, unless I am trailed with cart-ropes!" His protest was, however, drowned in the unanimous chorus of the Magistrates and Councillors, returning him thanks for his public spirit--wishing him a good voyage--and praying to Heaven for his happy and speedy return. Stunned and overwhelmed, and thinking, if he had any distinct thoughts at all, that remonstrance was vain, where friends and strangers seemed alike determined to carry the point against him, Triptolemus, without farther resistance, suffered himself to be conducted into the street, where the pirate's boat's-crew, assembling around him, began to move slowly towards the quay, many of the townsfolk following out of curiosity, but without any attempt at interference or annoyance; for the pacific compromise which the dexterity of the first Magistrate had achieved, was unanimously approved of as a much better settlement of the disputes betwixt them and the strangers, than might have been attained by the dubious issue of an appeal to arms. Meanwhile, as they went slowly along, Triptolemus had time to study the appearance, countenance, and dress, of those into whose hands he had been thus delivered, and began to imagine that he read in their looks, not only the general expression of a desperate character, but some sinister intentions directed particularly towards himself. He was alarmed by the truculent looks of Goffe, in particular, who, holding his arm with a gripe which resembled in delicacy of touch the compression of a smith's vice, cast on him from the outer corner of his eye oblique glances, like those which the eagle throws upon the prey which she has clutched, ere yet she proceeds, as it is technically called, to plume it. At length Yellowley's fears got so far the better of his prudence, that he fairly asked his terrible conductor, in a sort of crying whisper, "Are you going to murder me, Captain, in the face of the laws baith of God and man?" "Hold your peace, if you are wise," said Goffe, who had his own reasons for desiring to increase the panic of his captive; "we have not murdered a man these three months, and why should you put us in mind of it?" "You are but joking, I hope, good worthy Captain!" replied Triptolemus. "This is worse than witches, dwarfs, dirking of whales, and cowping of cobles, put all together!--this is an away-ganging crop, with a vengeance!--What good, in Heaven's name, would murdering me do to you?" "We might have some pleasure in it, at least," said Goffe.--"Look these fellows in the face, and see if you see one among them that would not rather kill a man than let it alone?--But we will speak more of that when you have first had a taste of the bilboes--unless, indeed, you come down with a handsome round handful of Chili boards[37] for your ransom." "As I shall live by bread, Captain," answered the Factor, "that misbegotten dwarf has carried off the whole hornful of silver!" "A cat-and-nine-tails will make you find it again," said Goffe, gruffly; "flogging and pickling is an excellent receipt to bring a man's wealth into his mind--twisting a bowstring round his skull till the eyes start a little, is a very good remembrancer too." "Captain," replied Yellowley, stoutly, "I have no money--seldom can improvers have. We turn pasture to tillage, and barley into aits, and heather into greensward, and the poor _yarpha_, as the benighted creatures here call their peat-bogs, into baittle grass-land; but we seldom make any thing of it that comes back to our ain pouch. The carles and the cart-avers make it all, and the carles and the cart-avers eat it all, and the deil clink doun with it!" "Well, well," said Goffe, "if you be really a poor fellow, as you pretend, I'll stand your friend;" then, inclining his head so as to reach the ear of the Factor, who stood on tiptoe with anxiety, he said, "If you love your life, do not enter the boat with us." "But how am I to get away from you, while you hold me so fast by the arm, that I could not get off if the whole year's crop of Scotland depended on it?" "Hark ye, you gudgeon," said Goffe, "just when you come to the water's edge, and when the fellows are jumping in and taking their oars, slue yourself round suddenly to the larboard--I will let go your arm--and then cut and run for your life!" Triptolemus did as he was desired, Goffe's willing hand relaxed the grasp as he had promised, the agriculturist trundled off like a football that has just received a strong impulse from the foot of one of the players, and, with celerity which surprised himself as well as all beholders, fled through the town of Kirkwall. Nay, such was the impetus of his retreat, that, as if the grasp of the pirate was still open to pounce upon him, he never stopped till he had traversed the whole town, and attained the open country on the other side. They who had seen him that day--his hat and wig lost in the sudden effort he had made to bolt forward, his cravat awry, and his waistcoat unbuttoned,--and who had an opportunity of comparing his round spherical form and short legs with the portentous speed at which he scoured through the street, might well say, that if Fury ministers arms, Fear confers wings. His very mode of running seemed to be that peculiar to his fleecy care, for, like a ram in the midst of his race, he ever and anon encouraged himself by a great bouncing attempt at a leap, though there were no obstacles in his way. There was no pursuit after the agriculturist; and though a musket or two were presented, for the purpose of sending a leaden messenger after him, yet Goffe, turning peace-maker for once in his life, so exaggerated the dangers that would attend a breach of the truce with the people of Kirkwall, that he prevailed upon the boat's crew to forbear any active hostilities, and to pull off for their vessel with all dispatch. The burghers, who regarded the escape of Triptolemus as a triumph on their side, gave the boat three cheers, by way of an insulting farewell; while the Magistrates, on the other hand, entertained great anxiety respecting the probable consequences of this breach of articles between them and the pirates; and, could they have seized upon the fugitive very privately, instead of complimenting him with a civic feast in honour of the agility which he displayed, it is likely they might have delivered the runaway hostage once more into the hands of his foemen. But it was impossible to set their face publicly to such an act of violence, and therefore they contented themselves with closely watching Cleveland, whom they determined to make responsible for any aggression which might be attempted by the pirates. Cleveland, on his part, easily conjectured that the motive which Goffe had for suffering the hostage to escape, was to leave him answerable for all consequences, and, relying more on the attachment and intelligence of his friend and adherent, Frederick Altamont, alias Jack Bunce, than on any thing else, expected the result with considerable anxiety, since the Magistrates, though they continued to treat him with civility, plainly intimated they would regulate his treatment by the behaviour of the crew, though he no longer commanded them. It was not, however, without some reason that he reckoned on the devoted fidelity of Bunce; for no sooner did that trusty adherent receive from Goffe, and the boat's crew, the news of the escape of Triptolemus, than he immediately concluded it had been favoured by the late Captain, in order that, Cleveland being either put to death or consigned to hopeless imprisonment, Goffe might be called upon to resume the command of the vessel. "But the drunken old boatswain shall miss his mark," said Bunce to his confederate Fletcher; "or else I am contented to quit the name of Altamont, and be called Jack Bunce, or Jack Dunce, if you like it better, to the end of the chapter." Availing himself accordingly of a sort of nautical eloquence, which his enemies termed slack-jaw, Bunce set before the crew, in a most animated manner, the disgrace which they all sustained, by their Captain remaining, as he was pleased to term it, in the bilboes, without any hostage to answer for his safety; and succeeded so far, that, besides exciting a good deal of discontent against Goffe, he brought the crew to the resolution of seizing the first vessel of a tolerable appearance, and declaring that the ship, crew, and cargo, should be dealt with according to the usage which Cleveland should receive on shore. It was judged at the same time proper to try the faith of the Orcadians, by removing from the roadstead of Kirkwall, and going round to that of Stromness, where, according to the treaty betwixt Provost Torfe and Captain Cleveland, they were to victual their sloop. They resolved, in the meantime, to intrust the command of the vessel to a council, consisting of Goffe, the boatswain, and Bunce himself, until Cleveland should be in a situation to resume his command. These resolutions having been proposed and acceded to, they weighed anchor, and got their sloop under sail, without experiencing any opposition or annoyance from the battery, which relieved them of one important apprehension incidental to their situation. FOOTNOTES: [37] Commonly called by landsmen, Spanish dollars. CHAPTER XVI. Clap on more sail, pursue, up with your fights, Give fire--she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! SHAKSPEARE. A very handsome brig, which, with several other vessels, was the property of Magnus Troil, the great Zetland Udaller, had received on board that Magnate himself, his two lovely daughters, and the facetious Claud Halcro, who, for friendship's sake chiefly, and the love of beauty proper to his poetical calling, attended them on their journey from Zetland to the capital of Orkney, to which Norna had referred them, as the place where her mystical oracles should at length receive a satisfactory explanation. They passed, at a distance, the tremendous cliffs of the lonely spot of earth called the Fair Isle, which, at an equal distance from either archipelago, lies in the sea which divides Orkney from Zetland; and at length, after some baffling winds, made the Start of Sanda. Off the headland so named, they became involved in a strong current, well known, by those who frequent these seas, as the Roost of the Start, which carried them considerably out of their course, and, joined to an adverse wind, forced them to keep on the east side of the island of Stronsa, and, finally compelled them to lie by for the night in Papa Sound, since the navigation in dark or thick weather, amongst so many low islands, is neither pleasant nor safe. On the ensuing morning they resumed their voyage under more favourable auspices; and, coasting along the island of Stronsa, whose flat, verdant, and comparatively fertile shores, formed a strong contrast to the dun hills and dark cliffs of their own islands, they doubled the cape called the Lambhead, and stood away for Kirkwall. They had scarce opened the beautiful bay betwixt Pomona and Shapinsha, and the sisters were admiring the massive church of Saint Magnus, as it was first seen to rise from amongst the inferior buildings of Kirkwall, when the eyes of Magnus, and of Claud Halcro, were attracted by an object which they thought more interesting. This was an armed sloop, with her sails set, which had just left the anchorage in the bay, and was running before the wind by which the brig of the Udaller was beating in. "A tight thing that, by my ancestors' bones!" said the old Udaller; "but I cannot make out of what country, as she shows no colours. Spanish built, I should think her." "Ay, ay," said Claud Halcro, "she has all the look of it. She runs before the wind that we must battle with, which is the wonted way of the world. As glorious John says,-- 'With roomy deck, and guns of mighty strength Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves, Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, She seems a sea-wasp flying on the waves.'" Brenda could not help telling Halcro, when he had spouted this stanza with great enthusiasm, "that though the description was more like a first-rate than a sloop, yet the simile of the sea-wasp served but indifferently for either." "A sea-wasp?" said Magnus, looking with some surprise, as the sloop, shifting her course, suddenly bore down on them: "Egad, I wish she may not show us presently that she has a sting!" What the Udaller said in jest, was fulfilled in earnest; for, without hoisting colours, or hailing, two shots were discharged from the sloop, one of which ran dipping and dancing upon the water, just ahead of the Zetlander's bows, while the other went through his main-sail. Magnus caught up a speaking-trumpet, and hailed the sloop, to demand what she was, and what was the meaning of this unprovoked aggression. He was only answered by the stern command,--"Down top-sails instantly, and lay your main-sail to the mast--you shall see who we are presently." There were no means within the reach of possibility by which obedience could be evaded, where it would instantly have been enforced by a broadside; and, with much fear on the part of the sisters and Claud Halcro, mixed with anger and astonishment on that of the Udaller, the brig lay-to to await the commands of the captors. The sloop immediately lowered a boat, with six armed hands, commanded by Jack Bunce, which rowed directly for their prize. As they approached her, Claud Halcro whispered to the Udaller,--"If what we hear of buccaniers be true, these men, with their silk scarfs and vests, have the very cut of them." "My daughters! my daughters!" muttered Magnus to himself, with such an agony as only a father could feel,--"Go down below, and hide yourselves, girls, while I"---- He threw down his speaking-trumpet, and seized on a handspike, while his daughters, more afraid of the consequences of his fiery temper to himself than of any thing else, hung round him, and begged him to make no resistance. Claud Halcro united his entreaties, adding, "It were best pacify the fellows with fair words. They might," he said, "be Dunkirkers, or insolent man-of-war's men on a frolic." "No, no," answered Magnus, "it is the sloop which the Jagger told us of. But I will take your advice--I will have patience for these girls' sakes; yet"---- He had no time to conclude the sentence, for Bunce jumped on board with his party, and drawing his cutlass, struck it upon the companion-ladder, and declared the ship was theirs. "By what warrant or authority do you stop us on the high seas?" said Magnus. "Here are half a dozen of warrants," said Bunce, showing the pistols which were hung round him, according to a pirate-fashion already mentioned, "choose which you like, old gentleman, and you shall have the perusal of it presently." "That is to say, you intend to rob us?" said Magnus.--"So be it--we have no means to help it--only be civil to the women, and take what you please from the vessel. There is not much, but I will and can make it worth more, if you use us well." "Civil to the women!" said Fletcher, who had also come on board with the gang--"when were we else than civil to them? ay, and kind to boot?--Look here, Jack Bunce!--what a trim-going little thing here is!--By G--, she shall make a cruize with us, come of old Squaretoes what will!" He seized upon the terrified Brenda with one hand, and insolently pulled back with the other the hood of the mantle in which she had muffled herself. "Help, father!--help, Minna!" exclaimed the affrighted girl; unconscious, at the moment, that they were unable to render her assistance. Magnus again uplifted the handspike, but Bunce stopped his hand.--"Avast, father!" he said, "or you will make a bad voyage of it presently--And you, Fletcher, let go the girl!" "And, d----n me! why should I let her go?" said Fletcher. "Because I command you, Dick," said the other, "and because I'll make it a quarrel else.--And now let me know, beauties, is there one of you bears that queer heathen name of Minna, for which I have a certain sort of regard?" "Gallant sir!" said Halcro, "unquestionably it is because you have some poetry in your heart." "I have had enough of it in my mouth in my time," answered Bunce; "but that day is by, old gentleman--however, I shall soon find out which of these girls is Minna.--Throw back your mufflings from your faces, and don't be afraid, my Lindamiras; no one here shall meddle with you to do you wrong. On my soul, two pretty wenches!--I wish I were at sea in an egg-shell, and a rock under my lee-bow, if I would wish a better leaguer-lass than the worst of them!--Hark you, my girls; which of you would like to swing in a rover's hammock?--you should have gold for the gathering!" The terrified maidens clung close together, and grew pale at the bold and familiar language of the desperate libertine. "Nay, don't be frightened," said he; "no one shall serve under the noble Altamont but by her own free choice--there is no pressing amongst gentlemen of fortune. And do not look so shy upon me neither, as if I spoke of what you never thought of before. One of you, at least, has heard of Captain Cleveland, the Rover." Brenda grew still paler, but the blood mounted at once in Minna's cheeks, on hearing the name of her lover thus unexpectedly introduced; for the scene was in itself so confounding, that the idea of the vessel's being the consort of which Cleveland had spoken at Burgh-Westra, had occurred to no one save the Udaller. "I see how it is," said Bunce, with a familiar nod, "and I will hold my course accordingly.--You need not be afraid of any injury, father," he added, addressing Magnus familiarly; "and though I have made many a pretty girl pay tribute in my time, yet yours shall go ashore without either wrong or ransom." "If you will assure me of that," said Magnus; "you are as welcome to the brig and cargo, as ever I made man welcome to a can of punch." "And it is no bad thing that same can of punch," said Bunce, "if we had any one here that could mix it well." "I will do it," said Claud Halcro, "with any man that ever squeezed lemon--Eric Scambester, the punch-maker of Burgh-Westra, being alone excepted." "And you are within a grapnel's length of him, too," said the Udaller.--"Go down below, my girls," he added, "and send up the rare old man, and the punch-bowl." "The punch-bowl!" said Fletcher; "I say, the bucket, d----n me!--Talk of bowls in the cabin of a paltry merchantman, but not to gentlemen-strollers--rovers, I would say," correcting himself, as he observed that Bunce looked sour at the mistake. "And I say, these two pretty girls shall stay on deck, and fill my can," said Bunce; "I deserve some attendance, at least, for all my generosity." "And they shall fill mine, too," said Fletcher--"they shall fill it to the brim!--and I will have a kiss for every drop they spill--broil me if I won't!" "Why, then, I tell you, you shan't!" said Bunce; "for I'll be d----d if any one shall kiss Minna but one, and that's neither you nor I; and her other little bit of a consort shall 'scape for company;--there are plenty of willing wenches in Orkney.--And so, now I think on it, these girls shall go down below, and bolt themselves into the cabin; and we shall have the punch up here on deck, _al fresco_, as the old gentleman proposes." "Why, Jack, I wish you knew your own mind," said Fletcher; "I have been your messmate these two years, and I love you; and yet flay me like a wild bullock, if you have not as many humours as a monkey!--And what shall we have to make a little fun of, since you have sent the girls down below?" "Why, we will have Master Punch-maker here," answered Bunce, "to give us toasts, and sing us songs.--And, in the meantime, you there, stand by sheets and tacks, and get her under way!--and you, steersman, as you would keep your brains in your skull, keep her under the stern of the sloop.--If you attempt to play us any trick, I will scuttle your sconce as if it were an old calabash!" The vessel was accordingly got under way, and moved slowly on in the wake of the sloop, which, as had been previously agreed upon, held her course, not to return to the Bay of Kirkwall, but for an excellent roadstead called Inganess Bay, formed by a promontory which extends to the eastward two or three miles from the Orcadian metropolis, and where the vessels might conveniently lie at anchor, while the rovers maintained any communication with the Magistrates which the new state of things seemed to require. Meantime Claud Halcro had exerted his utmost talents in compounding a bucketful of punch for the use of the pirates, which they drank out of large cans; the ordinary seamen, as well as Bunce and Fletcher, who acted as officers, dipping them into the bucket with very little ceremony, as they came and went upon their duty. Magnus, who was particularly apprehensive that liquor might awaken the brutal passions of these desperadoes, was yet so much astonished at the quantities which he saw them drink, without producing any visible effect upon their reason, that he could not help expressing his surprise to Bunce himself, who, wild as he was, yet appeared by far the most civil and conversable of his party, and whom he was, perhaps, desirous to conciliate, by a compliment of which all boon topers know the value. "Bones of Saint Magnus!" said the Udaller, "I used to think I took off my can like a gentleman; but to see your men swallow, Captain, one would think their stomachs were as bottomless as the hole of Laifell in Foula, which I have sounded myself with a line of an hundred fathoms. By my soul, the Bicker of Saint Magnus were but a sip to them!" "In our way of life, sir," answered Bunce, "there is no stint till duty calls, or the puncheon is drunk out." "By my word, sir," said Claud Halcro, "I believe there is not one of your people but could drink out the mickle bicker of Scarpa, which was always offered to the Bishop of Orkney brimful of the best bummock that ever was brewed."[38] "If drinking could make them bishops," said Bunce, "I should have a reverend crew of them; but as they have no other clerical qualities about them, I do not propose that they shall get drunk to-day; so we will cut our drink with a song." "And I'll sing it, by ----!" said or swore Dick Fletcher, and instantly struck up the old ditty-- "It was a ship, and a ship of fame, Launch'd off the stocks, bound for the main, With an hundred and fifty brisk young men, All pick'd and chosen every one." "I would sooner be keel-hauled than hear that song over again," said Bunce; "and confound your lantern jaws, you can squeeze nothing else out of them!" "By ----," said Fletcher, "I will sing my song, whether you like it or no;" and again he sung, with the doleful tone of a north-easter whistling through sheet and shrouds,-- "Captain Glen was our captain's name; A very gallant and brisk young man; As bold a sailor as e'er went to sea, And we were bound for High Barbary." "I tell you again," said Bunce, "we will have none of your screech-owl music here; and I'll be d----d if you shall sit here and make that infernal noise!" "Why, then, I'll tell you what," said Fletcher, getting up, "I'll sing when I walk about, and I hope there is no harm in that, Jack Bunce." And so, getting up from his seat, he began to walk up and down the sloop, croaking out his long and disastrous ballad. "You see how I manage them," said Bunce, with a smile of self-applause--"allow that fellow two strides on his own way, and you make a mutineer of him for life. But I tie him strict up, and he follows me as kindly as a fowler's spaniel after he has got a good beating.--And now your toast and your song, sir," addressing Halcro; "or rather your song without your toast. I have got a toast for myself. Here is success to all roving blades, and confusion to all honest men!" "I should be sorry to drink that toast, if I could help it," said Magnus Troil. "What! you reckon yourself one of the honest folks, I warrant?" said Bunce.--"Tell me your trade, and I'll tell you what I think of it. As for the punch-maker here, I knew him at first glance to be a tailor, who has, therefore, no more pretensions to be honest, than he has not to be mangy. But you are some High-Dutch skipper, I warrant me, that tramples on the cross when he is in Japan, and denies his religion for a day's gain." "No," replied the Udaller, "I am a gentleman of Zetland." "O, what!" retorted the satirical Mr. Bunce, "you are come from the happy climate where gin is a groat a-bottle, and where there is daylight for ever?" "At your service, Captain," said the Udaller, suppressing with much pain some disposition to resent these jests on his country, although under every risk, and at all disadvantage. "At _my_ service!" said Bunce--"Ay, if there was a rope stretched from the wreck to the beach, you would be at my service to cut the hawser, make _floatsome_ and _jetsome_ of ship and cargo, and well if you did not give me a rap on the head with the back of the cutty-axe; and you call yourself honest? But never mind--here goes the aforesaid toast--and do you sing me a song, Mr. Fashioner; and look it be as good as your punch." Halcro, internally praying for the powers of a new Timotheus, to turn his strain and check his auditor's pride, as glorious John had it, began a heart-soothing ditty with the following lines:-- "Maidens fresh as fairest rose, Listen to this lay of mine." "I will hear nothing of maidens or roses," said Bunce; "it puts me in mind what sort of a cargo we have got on board; and, by ----, I will be true to my messmate and my captain as long as I can!--And now I think on't, I'll have no more punch either--that last cup made innovation, and I am not to play Cassio to-night--and if I drink not, nobody else shall." So saying, he manfully kicked over the bucket, which, notwithstanding the repeated applications made to it, was still half full, got up from his seat, shook himself a little to rights, as he expressed it, cocked his hat, and, walking the quarter-deck with an air of dignity, gave, by word and signal, the orders for bringing the ships to anchor, which were readily obeyed by both, Goffe being then, in all probability, past any rational state of interference. The Udaller, in the meantime, condoled with Halcro on their situation. "It is bad enough," said the tough old Norseman; "for these are rank rogues--and yet, were it not for the girls, I should not fear them. That young vapouring fellow, who seems to command, is not such a born devil as he might have been." "He has queer humours, though," said Halcro; "and I wish we were loose from him. To kick down a bucket half full of the best punch ever was made, and to cut me short in the sweetest song I ever wrote,--I promise you, I do not know what he may do next--it is next door to madness." Meanwhile, the ships being brought to anchor, the valiant Lieutenant Bunce called upon Fletcher, and, resuming his seat by his unwilling passengers, he told them they should see what message he was about to send to the wittols of Kirkwall, as they were something concerned in it. "It shall run in Dick's name," he said, "as well as in mine. I love to give the poor young fellow a little countenance now and then--don't I, Dick, you d----d stupid ass?" "Why, yes, Jack Bunce," said Dick, "I can't say but as you do--only you are always bullocking one about something or other, too--but, howsomdever, d'ye see"---- "Enough said--belay your jaw, Dick," said Bunce, and proceeded to write his epistle, which, being read aloud, proved to be of the following tenor: "For the Mayor and Aldermen of Kirkwall--Gentlemen, As, contrary to your good faith given, you have not sent us on board a hostage for the safety of our Captain, remaining on shore at your request, these come to tell you, we are not thus to be trifled with. We have already in our possession, a brig, with a family of distinction, its owners and passengers; and as you deal with our Captain, so will we deal with them in every respect. And as this is the first, so assure yourselves it shall not be the last damage which we will do to your town and trade, if you do not send on board our Captain, and supply us with stores according to treaty. "Given on board the brig Mergoose of Burgh-Westra, lying in Inganess Bay. Witness our hands, commanders of the Fortune's Favourite, and gentlemen adventurers." He then subscribed himself Frederick Altamont, and handed the letter to Fletcher, who read the said subscription with much difficulty; and, admiring the sound of it very much, swore he would have a new name himself, and the rather that Fletcher was the most crabbed word to spell and conster, he believed, in the whole dictionary. He subscribed himself accordingly, Timothy Tugmutton. "Will you not add a few lines to the coxcombs?" said Bunce, addressing Magnus. "Not I," returned the Udaller, stubborn in his ideas of right and wrong, even in so formidable an emergency. "The Magistrates of Kirkwall know their duty, and were I they"----But here the recollection that his daughters were at the mercy of these ruffians, blanked the bold visage of Magnus Troil, and checked the defiance which was just about to issue from his lips. "D----n me," said Bunce, who easily conjectured what was passing in the mind of his prisoner--"that pause would have told well on the stage--it would have brought down pit, box, and gallery, egad, as Bayes has it." "I will hear nothing of Bayes," said Claud Halcro, (himself a little elevated,) "it is an impudent satire on glorious John; but he tickled Buckingham off for it-- 'In the first rank of these did Zimri stand; A man so various'"---- "Hold your peace!" said Bunce, drowning the voice of the admirer of Dryden in louder and more vehement asseveration, "the Rehearsal is the best farce ever was written--and I'll make him kiss the gunner's daughter that denies it. D----n me, I was the best Prince Prettyman ever walked the boards-- 'Sometimes a fisher's son, sometimes a prince.' But let us to business.--Hark ye, old gentleman," (to Magnus,) "you have a sort of sulkiness about you, for which some of my profession would cut your ears out of your head, and broil them for your dinner with red pepper. I have known Goffe do so to a poor devil, for looking sour and dangerous when he saw his sloop go to Davy Jones's locker with his only son on board. But I'm a spirit of another sort; and if you or the ladies are ill used, it shall be the Kirkwall people's fault, and not mine, and that's fair; and so you had better let them know your condition, and your circumstances, and so forth,--and that's fair, too." Magnus, thus exhorted, took up the pen, and attempted to write; but his high spirit so struggled with his paternal anxiety, that his hand refused its office. "I cannot help it," he said, after one or two illegible attempts to write--"I cannot form a letter, if all our lives depended upon it." And he could not, with his utmost efforts, so suppress the convulsive emotions which he experienced, but that they agitated his whole frame. The willow which bends to the tempest, often escapes better than the oak which resists it; and so, in great calamities, it sometimes happens, that light and frivolous spirits recover their elasticity and presence of mind sooner than those of a loftier character. In the present case, Claud Halcro was fortunately able to perform the task which the deeper feelings of his friend and patron refused. He took the pen, and, in as few words as possible, explained the situation in which they were placed, and the cruel risks to which they were exposed, insinuating at the same time, as delicately as he could express it, that, to the magistrates of the country, the life and honour of its citizens should be a dearer object than even the apprehension or punishment of the guilty; taking care, however, to qualify the last expression as much as possible, for fear of giving umbrage to the pirates. Bunce read over the letter, which fortunately met his approbation; and, on seeing the name of Claud Halcro at the bottom, he exclaimed, in great surprise, and with more energetic expressions of asseveration than we choose to record--"Why, you are the little fellow that played the fiddle to old Manager Gadabout's company, at Hogs Norton, the first season I came out there! I thought I knew your catchword of glorious John." At another time this recognition might not have been very grateful to Halcro's minstrel pride; but, as matters stood with him, the discovery of a golden mine could not have made him more happy. He instantly remembered the very hopeful young performer who came out in Don Sebastian, and judiciously added, that the muse of glorious John had never received such excellent support during the time that he was first (he might have added, and only) violin to Mr. Gadabout's company. "Why, yes," said Bunce, "I believe you are right--I think I might have shaken the scene as well as Booth or Betterton either. But I was destined to figure on other boards," (striking his foot upon the deck,) "and I believe I must stick by them, till I find no board at all to support me. But now, old acquaintance, I will do something for you--slue yourself this way a bit--I would have you solus." They leaned over the taffrail, while Bunce whispered with more seriousness than he usually showed, "I am sorry for this honest old heart of Norway pine--blight me if I am not--and for the daughters too--besides, I have my own reasons for befriending one of them. I can be a wild fellow with a willing lass of the game; but to such decent and innocent creatures--d----n me, I am Scipio at Numantia, and Alexander in the tent of Darius. You remember how I touch off Alexander?" (here he started into heroics.) "'Thus from the grave I rise to save my love; All draw your swords, with wings of lightning move. When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay-- 'Tis beauty calls, and glory shows the way.'" Claud Halcro failed not to bestow the necessary commendations on his declamation, declaring, that, in his opinion as an honest man, he had always thought Mr. Altamont's giving that speech far superior in tone and energy to Betterton. Bunce, or Altamont, wrung his hand tenderly. "Ah, you flatter me, my dear friend," he said; "yet, why had not the public some of your judgment!--I should not then have been at this pass. Heaven knows, my dear Mr. Halcro--Heaven knows with what pleasure I could keep you on board with me, just that I might have one friend who loves as much to hear, as I do to recite, the choicest pieces of our finest dramatic authors. The most of us are beasts--and, for the Kirkwall hostage yonder, he uses me, egad, as I use Fletcher, I think, and huffs me the more, the more I do for him. But how delightful it would be in a tropic night, when the ship was hanging on the breeze, with a broad and steady sail, for me to rehearse Alexander, with you for my pit, box, and gallery! Nay, (for you are a follower of the muses, as I remember,) who knows but you and I might be the means of inspiring, like Orpheus and Eurydice, a pure taste into our companions, and softening their manners, while we excited their better feelings?" This was spoken with so much unction, that Claud Halcro began to be afraid he had both made the actual punch over potent, and mixed too many bewitching ingredients in the cup of flattery which he had administered; and that, under the influence of both potions, the sentimental pirate might detain him by force, merely to realize the scenes which his imagination presented. The conjuncture was, however, too delicate to admit of any active effort, on Halcro's part, to redeem his blunder, and therefore he only returned the tender pressure of his friend's hand, and uttered the interjection "alas!" in as pathetic a tone as he could. Bunce immediately resumed: "You are right, my friend, these are but vain visions of felicity, and it remains but for the unhappy Altamont to serve the friend to whom he is now to bid farewell. I have determined to put you and the two girls ashore, with Fletcher for your protection; and so call up the young women, and let them begone before the devil get aboard of me, or of some one else. You will carry my letter to the magistrates, and second it with your own eloquence, and assure them, that if they hurt but one hair of Cleveland's head, there will be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot." Relieved at heart by this unexpected termination of Bunce's harangue, Halcro descended the companion ladder two steps at a time, and knocking at the cabin door, could scarce find intelligible language enough to say his errand. The sisters hearing, with unexpected joy, that they were to be set ashore, muffled themselves in their cloaks, and, when they learned that the boat was hoisted out, came hastily on deck, where they were apprized, for the first time, to their great horror, that their father was still to remain on board of the pirate. "We will remain with him at every risk," said Minna--"we may be of some assistance to him, were it but for an instant--we will live and die with him!" "We shall aid him more surely," said Brenda, who comprehended the nature of their situation better than Minna, "by interesting the people of Kirkwall to grant these gentlemen's demands." "Spoken like an angel of sense and beauty," said Bunce; "and now away with you; for, d----n me, if this is not like having a lighted linstock in the powder-room--if you speak another word more, confound me if I know how I shall bring myself to part with you!" "Go, in God's name, my daughters," said Magnus. "I am in God's hand; and when you are gone I shall care little for myself--and I shall think and say, as long as I live, that this good gentleman deserves a better trade.--Go--go--away with you!"--for they yet lingered in reluctance to leave him. "Stay not to kiss," said Bunce, "for fear I be tempted to ask my share. Into the boat with you--yet stop an instant." He drew the three captives apart--"Fletcher," said he, "will answer for the rest of the fellows, and will see you safe off the sea-beach. But how to answer for Fletcher, I know not, except by trusting Mr. Halcro with this little guarantee." [Illustration] He offered the minstrel a small double-barrelled pistol, which, he said, was loaded with a brace of balls. Minna observed Halcro's hand tremble as he stretched it out to take the weapon. "Give it to me, sir," she said, taking it from the outlaw; "and trust to me for defending my sister and myself." "Bravo, bravo!" shouted Bunce. "There spoke a wench worthy of Cleveland, the King of Rovers!" "Cleveland!" repeated Minna, "do you then know that Cleveland, whom you have twice named?" "Know him! Is there a man alive," said Bunce, "that knows better than I do the best and stoutest fellow ever stepped betwixt stem and stern? When he is out of the bilboes, as please Heaven he shall soon be, I reckon to see you come on board of us, and reign the queen of every sea we sail over.--You have got the little guardian; I suppose you know how to use it? If Fletcher behaves ill to you, you need only draw up this piece of iron with your thumb, so--and if he persists, it is but crooking your pretty forefinger thus, and I shall lose the most dutiful messmate that ever man had--though, d----n the dog, he will deserve his death if he disobeys my orders. And now, into the boat--but stay, one kiss for Cleveland's sake." Brenda, in deadly terror, endured his courtesy, but Minna, stepping back with disdain, offered her hand. Bunce laughed, but kissed, with a theatrical air, the fair hand which she extended as a ransom for her lips, and at length the sisters and Halcro were placed in the boat, which rowed off under Fletcher's command. Bunce stood on the quarter-deck, soliloquizing after the manner of his original profession. "Were this told at Port-Royal now, or at the isle of Providence, or in the Petits Guaves, I wonder what they would say of me! Why, that I was a good-natured milksop--a Jack-a-lent--an ass.--Well, let them. I have done enough of bad to think about it; it is worth while doing one good action, if it were but for the rarity of the thing, and to put one in good humour with oneself." Then turning to Magnus Troil, he proceeded--"By ---- these are bona-robas, these daughters of yours! The eldest would make her fortune on the London boards. What a dashing attitude the wench had with her, as she seized the pistol!--d----n me, that touch would have brought the house down! What a Roxalana the jade would have made!" (for, in his oratory, Bunce, like Sancho's gossip, Thomas Cecial, was apt to use the most energetic word which came to hand, without accurately considering its propriety.) "I would give my share of the next prize but to hear her spout-- 'Away, begone, and give a whirlwind room, Or I will blow you up like dust.--Avaunt! Madness but meanly represents my rage.' And then, again, that little, soft, shy, tearful trembler, for Statira, to hear her recite-- 'He speaks the kindest words, and looks such things, Vows with such passion, swears with so much grace, That 'tis a kind of heaven to be deluded by him.' What a play we might have run up!--I was a beast not to think of it before I sent them off--I to be Alexander--Claud Halcro, Lysimachus--this old gentleman might have made a Clytus, for a pinch. I was an idiot not to think of it!" There was much in this effusion which might have displeased the Udaller; but, to speak truth, he paid no attention to it. His eye, and, finally, his spy-glass, were employed in watching the return of his daughters to the shore. He saw them land on the beach, and, accompanied by Halcro, and another man, (Fletcher, doubtless,) he saw them ascend the acclivity, and proceed upon the road to Kirkwall; and he could even distinguish that Minna, as if considering herself as the guardian of the party, walked a little aloof from the rest, on the watch, as it seemed, against surprise, and ready to act as occasion should require. At length, as the Udaller was just about to lose sight of them, he had the exquisite satisfaction to see the party halt, and the pirate leave them, after a space just long enough for a civil farewell, and proceed slowly back, on his return to the beach. Blessing the Great Being who had thus relieved him from the most agonizing fears which a father can feel, the worthy Udaller, from that instant, stood resigned to his own fate, whatever that might be. FOOTNOTES: [38] Liquor brewed for a Christmas treat. CHAPTER XVII. Over the mountains and under the waves, Over the fountains and under the graves, Over floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way. _Old Song._ The parting of Fletcher from Claud Halcro and the sisters of Burgh-Westra, on the spot where it took place, was partly occasioned by a small party of armed men being seen at a distance in the act of advancing from Kirkwall, an apparition hidden from the Udaller's spy-glass by the swell of the ground, but quite visible to the pirate, whom it determined to consult his own safety by a speedy return to his boat. He was just turning away, when Minna occasioned the short delay which her father had observed. "Stop," she said; "I command you!--Tell your leader from me, that whatever the answer may be from Kirkwall, he shall carry his vessel, nevertheless, round to Stromness; and, being anchored there, let him send a boat ashore for Captain Cleveland when he shall see a smoke on the Bridge of Broisgar." Fletcher had thought, like his messmate Bunce of asking a kiss, at least, for the trouble of escorting these beautiful young women; and perhaps, neither the terror of the approaching Kirkwall men, nor of Minna's weapon, might have prevented his being insolent. But the name of his Captain, and, still more, the unappalled, dignified, and commanding manner of Minna Troil, overawed him. He made a sea bow,--promised to keep a sharp look-out, and, returning to his boat, went on board with his message. As Halcro and the sisters advanced towards the party whom they saw on the Kirkwall road, and who, on their part, had halted as if to observe them, Brenda, relieved from the fears of Fletcher's presence, which had hitherto kept her silent, exclaimed, "Merciful Heaven!--Minna, in what hands have we left our dear father?" "In the hands of brave men," said Minna, steadily--"I fear not for him." "As brave as you please," said Claud Halcro, "but very dangerous rogues for all that.--I know that fellow Altamont, as he calls himself, though that is not his right name neither, as deboshed a dog as ever made a barn ring with blood and blank verse. He began with Barnwell, and every body thought he would end with the gallows, like the last scene in Venice Preserved." "It matters not," said Minna--"the wilder the waves, the more powerful is the voice that rules them. The name alone of Cleveland ruled the mood of the fiercest amongst them." "I am sorry for Cleveland," said Brenda, "if such are his companions,--but I care little for him in comparison to my father." "Reserve your compassion for those who need it," said Minna, "and fear nothing for our father.--God knows, every silver hair on his head is to me worth the treasure of an unsummed mine; but I know that he is safe while in yonder vessel, and I know that he will be soon safe on shore." "I would I could see it," said Claud Halcro; "but I fear the Kirkwall people, supposing Cleveland to be such as I dread, will not dare to exchange him against the Udaller. The Scots have very severe laws against theft-boot, as they call it." "But who are those on the road before us?" said Brenda; "and why do they halt there so jealously?" "They are a patrol of the militia," answered Halcro. "Glorious John touches them off a little sharply,--but then John was a Jacobite,--(_e_) 'Mouths without hands, maintain'd at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence; Stout once a-month, they march, a blustering band, And ever, but in time of need, at hand.' I fancy they halted just now, taking us, as they saw us on the brow of the hill, for a party of the sloop's men, and now they can distinguish that you wear petticoats, they are moving on again." They came on accordingly, and proved to be, as Claud Halcro had suggested, a patrol sent out to watch the motions of the pirates, and to prevent their attempting descents to damage the country. They heartily congratulated Claud Halcro, who was well known to more than one of them, upon his escape from captivity; and the commander of the party, while offering every assistance to the ladies, could not help condoling with them on the circumstances in which their father stood, hinting, though in a delicate and doubtful manner, the difficulties which might be in the way of his liberation. When they arrived at Kirkwall, and obtained an audience of the Provost, and one or two of the Magistrates, these difficulties were more plainly insisted upon.--"The Halcyon frigate is upon the coast," said the Provost; "she was seen off Duncansbay-head; and, though I have the deepest respect for Mr. Troil of Burgh-Westra, yet I shall be answerable to law if I release from prison the Captain of this suspicious vessel, on account of the safety of any individual who may be unhappily endangered by his detention. This man is now known to be the heart and soul of these buccaniers, and am I at liberty to send him aboard, that he may plunder the country, or perhaps go fight the King's ship?--for he has impudence enough for any thing." "_Courage_ enough for any thing, you mean, Mr. Provost," said Minna, unable to restrain her displeasure. "Why, you may call it as you please, Miss Troil," said the worthy Magistrate; "but, in my opinion, that sort of courage which proposes to fight singly against two, is little better than a kind of practical impudence." "But our father?" said Brenda, in a tone of the most earnest entreaty--"our father--the friend, I may say the father, of his country--to whom so many look for kindness, and so many for actual support--whose loss would be the extinction of a beacon in a storm--will you indeed weigh the risk which he runs, against such a trifling thing as letting an unfortunate man from prison, to seek his unhappy fate elsewhere?" "Miss Brenda is right," said Claud Halcro; "I am for let-a-be for let-a-be, as the boys say; and never fash about a warrant of liberation, Provost, but just take a fool's counsel, and let the goodman of the jail forget to draw his bolt on the wicket, or leave a chink of a window open, or the like, and we shall be rid of the rover, and have the one best honest fellow in Orkney or Zetland on the lee-side of a bowl of punch with us in five hours." The Provost replied in nearly the same terms as before, that he had the highest respect for Mr. Magnus Troil of Burgh-Westra, but that he could not suffer his consideration for any individual, however respectable, to interfere with the discharge of his duty. Minna then addressed her sister in a tone of calm and sarcastic displeasure.--"You forget," she said, "Brenda, that you are talking of the safety of a poor insignificant Udaller of Zetland, to no less a person than the Chief Magistrate of the metropolis of Orkney--can you expect so great a person to condescend to such a trifling subject of consideration? It will be time enough for the Provost to think of complying with the terms sent to him--for comply with them at length he both must and will--when the Church of Saint Magnus is beat down about his ears." "You may be angry with me, my pretty young lady," said the good-humoured Provost Torfe, "but I cannot be offended with you. The Church of Saint Magnus has stood many a day, and, I think, will outlive both you and me, much more yonder pack of unhanged dogs. And besides that your father is half an Orkneyman, and has both estate and friends among us, I would, I give you my word, do as much for a Zetlander in distress as I would for any one, excepting one of our own native Kirkwallers, who are doubtless to be preferred. And if you will take up your lodgings here with my wife and myself, we will endeavour to show you," continued he, "that you are as welcome in Kirkwall, as ever you could be in Lerwick or Scalloway." Minna deigned no reply to this good-humoured invitation, but Brenda declined it in civil terms, pleading the necessity of taking up their abode with a wealthy widow of Kirkwall, a relation, who already expected them. Halcro made another attempt to move the Provost, but found him inexorable.--"The Collector of the Customs had already threatened," he said, "to inform against him for entering into treaty, or, as he called it, packing and peeling with those strangers, even when it seemed the only means of preventing a bloody affray in the town; and, should he now forego the advantage afforded by the imprisonment of Cleveland and the escape of the Factor, he might incur something worse than censure." The burden of the whole was, "that he was sorry for the Udaller, he was sorry even for the lad Cleveland, who had some sparks of honour about him; but his duty was imperious, and must be obeyed." The Provost then precluded farther argument, by observing, that another affair from Zetland called for his immediate attention. A gentleman named Mertoun, residing at Jarlshof, had made complaint against Snailsfoot the Jagger, for having assisted a domestic of his in embezzling some valuable articles which had been deposited in his custody, and he was about to take examinations on the subject, and cause them to be restored to Mr. Mertoun, who was accountable for them to the right owner. In all this information, there was nothing which seemed interesting to the sisters excepting the word Mertoun, which went like a dagger to the heart of Minna, when she recollected the circumstances under which Mordaunt Mertoun had disappeared, and which, with an emotion less painful, though still of a melancholy nature, called a faint blush into Brenda's cheek, and a slight degree of moisture into her eye. But it was soon evident that the Magistrate spoke not of Mordaunt, but of his father; and the daughters of Magnus, little interested in his detail, took leave of the Provost to go to their own lodgings. When they arrived at their relation's, Minna made it her business to learn, by such enquiries as she could make without exciting suspicion, what was the situation of the unfortunate Cleveland, which she soon discovered to be exceedingly precarious. The Provost had not, indeed, committed him to close custody, as Claud Halcro had anticipated, recollecting, perhaps, the favourable circumstances under which he had surrendered himself, and loath, till the moment of the last necessity, altogether to break faith with him. But although left apparently at large, he was strictly watched by persons well armed and appointed for the purpose, who had directions to detain him by force, if he attempted to pass certain narrow precincts which were allotted to him. He was quartered in a strong room within what is called the King's Castle, and at night his chamber door was locked on the outside, and a sufficient guard mounted to prevent his escape. He therefore enjoyed only the degree of liberty which the cat, in her cruel sport, is sometimes pleased to permit to the mouse which she has clutched; and yet, such was the terror of the resources, the courage, and ferocity of the pirate Captain, that the Provost was blamed by the Collector, and many other sage citizens of Kirkwall, for permitting him to be at large upon any conditions. It may be well believed, that, under such circumstances, Cleveland had no desire to seek any place of public resort, conscious that he was the object of a mixed feeling of curiosity and terror. His favourite place of exercise, therefore, was the external aisles of the Cathedral of Saint Magnus, of which the eastern end alone is fitted up for public worship. This solemn old edifice, having escaped the ravage which attended the first convulsions of the Reformation, still retains some appearance of episcopal dignity. This place of worship is separated by a screen from the nave and western limb of the cross, and the whole is preserved in a state of cleanliness and decency, which might be well proposed as an example to the proud piles of Westminster and St. Paul's. It was in this exterior part of the Cathedral that Cleveland was permitted to walk, the rather that his guards, by watching the single open entrance, had the means, with very little inconvenience to themselves, of preventing any possible attempt at escape. The place itself was well suited to his melancholy circumstances. The lofty and vaulted roof rises upon ranges of Saxon pillars, of massive size, four of which, still larger than the rest, once supported the lofty spire, which, long since destroyed by accident, has been rebuilt upon a disproportioned and truncated plan. The light is admitted at the eastern end through a lofty, well-proportioned, and richly-ornamented Gothic window; and the pavement is covered with inscriptions, in different languages, distinguishing the graves of noble Orcadians, who have at different times been deposited within the sacred precincts. Here walked Cleveland, musing over the events of a misspent life, which, it seemed probable, might be brought to a violent and shameful close, while he was yet in the prime of youth.--"With these dead," he said, looking on the pavement, "shall I soon be numbered--but no holy man will speak a blessing; no friendly hand register an inscription; no proud descendant sculpture armorial bearings over the grave of the pirate Cleveland. My whitening bones will swing in the gibbet-irons, on some wild beach or lonely cape, that will be esteemed fatal and accursed for my sake. The old mariner, as he passes the Sound, will shake his head, and tell of my name and actions, as a warning to his younger comrades.--But, Minna! Minna!--what will be thy thoughts when the news reaches thee?--Would to God the tidings were drowned in the deepest whirlpool betwixt Kirkwall and Burgh-Westra, ere they came to her ear!--and O! would to Heaven that we had never met, since we never can meet again!" He lifted up his eyes as he spoke, and Minna Troil stood before him. Her face was pale, and her hair dishevelled; but her look was composed and firm, with its usual expression of high-minded melancholy. She was still shrouded in the large mantle which she had assumed on leaving the vessel. Cleveland's first emotion was astonishment; his next was joy, not unmixed with awe. He would have exclaimed--he would have thrown himself at her feet--but she imposed at once silence and composure on him, by raising her finger, and saying, in a low but commanding accent,--"Be cautious--we are observed--there are men without--they let me enter with difficulty. I dare not remain long--they would think--they might believe--O, Cleveland! I have hazarded every thing to save you!" "To save me?--Alas! poor Minna!" answered Cleveland, "to save me is impossible.--Enough that I have seen you once more, were it but to say, for ever farewell!" "We must indeed say farewell," said Minna; "for fate, and your guilt, have divided us for ever.--Cleveland, I have seen your associates--need I tell you more--need I say, that I know now what a pirate is?" "You have been in the ruffians' power!" said Cleveland, with a start of agony--"Did they presume"---- "Cleveland," replied Minna, "they presumed nothing--your name was a spell over them. By the power of that spell over these ferocious banditti, and by that alone, I was reminded of the qualities I once thought my Cleveland's!" "Yes," said Cleveland, proudly, "my name has and shall have power over them, when they are at the wildest; and, had they harmed you by one rude word, they should have found--Yet what do I rave about--I am a prisoner!" "You shall be so no longer," said Minna--"Your safety--the safety of my dear father--all demand your instant freedom. I have formed a scheme for your liberty, which, boldly executed, cannot fail. The light is fading without--muffle yourself in my cloak, and you will easily pass the guards--I have given them the means of carousing, and they are deeply engaged. Haste to the Loch of Stennis, and hide yourself till day dawns; then make a smoke on the point, where the land, stretching into the lake on each side, divides it nearly in two at the Bridge of Broisgar. Your vessel, which lies not far distant, will send a boat ashore.--Do not hesitate an instant!" "But you, Minna!--Should this wild scheme succeed," said Cleveland, "what is to become of you?" "For my share in your escape," answered the maiden, "the honesty of my own intention will vindicate me in the sight of Heaven; and the safety of my father, whose fate depends on yours, will be my excuse to man." In a few words, she gave him the history of their capture, and its consequences. Cleveland cast up his eyes and raised his hands to Heaven, in thankfulness for the escape of the sisters from his evil companions, and then hastily added,--"But you are right, Minna; I must fly at all rates--for your father's sake I must fly.--Here, then, we part--yet not, I trust, for ever." "For ever!" answered a voice, that sounded as from a sepulchral vault. They started, looked around them, and then gazed on each other. It seemed as if the echoes of the building had returned Cleveland's last words, but the pronunciation was too emphatically accented. "Yes, for ever!" said Norna of the Fitful-head, stepping forward from behind one of the massive Saxon pillars which support the roof of the Cathedral. "Here meet the crimson foot and the crimson hand. Well for both that the wound is healed whence that crimson was derived--well for both, but best, for him who shed it.--Here, then, you meet--and meet for the last time!" "Not so," said Cleveland, as if about to take Minna's hand; "to separate me from Minna, while I have life, must be the work of herself alone." "Away!" said Norna, stepping betwixt them,--"away with such idle folly!--Nourish no vain dreams of future meetings--you part here, and you part for ever. The hawk pairs not with the dove; guilt matches not with innocence.--Minna Troil, you look for the last time on this bold and criminal man--Cleveland, you behold Minna for the last time!" "And dream you," said Cleveland, indignantly, "that your mummery imposes on me, and that I am among the fools who see more than trick in your pretended art?" "Forbear, Cleveland, forbear!" said Minna, her hereditary awe of Norna augmented by the circumstance of her sudden appearance. "O, forbear!--she is powerful--she is but too powerful.--And do you, O Norna, remember my father's safety is linked with Cleveland's." "And it is well for Cleveland that I do remember it," replied the Pythoness--"and that, for the sake of one, I am here to aid both. You, with your childish purpose, of passing one of his bulk and stature under the disguise of a few paltry folds of wadmaal--what would your device have procured him but instant restraint with bolt and shackle?--I will save him--I will place him in security on board his bark. But let him renounce these shores for ever, and carry elsewhere the terrors of his sable flag, and his yet blacker name; for if the sun rises twice, and finds him still at anchor, his blood be on his own head.--Ay, look to each other--look the last look that I permit to frail affection,--and say, if ye _can_ say it, Farewell for ever!" "Obey her," stammered Minna; "remonstrate not, but obey her." Cleveland, grasping her hand, and kissing it ardently, said, but so low that she only could hear it, "Farewell, Minna, but _not_ for ever." "And now, maiden, begone," said Norna, "and leave the rest to the Reimkennar." "One word more," said Minna, "and I obey you. Tell me but if I have caught aright your meaning--Is Mordaunt Mertoun safe and recovered?" "Recovered, and safe," said Norna; "else woe to the hand that shed his blood!" Minna slowly sought the door of the Cathedral, and turned back from time to time to look at the shadowy form of Norna, and the stately and military figure of Cleveland, as they stood together in the deepening gloom of the ancient Cathedral. When she looked back a second time they were in motion, and Cleveland followed the matron, as, with a slow and solemn step, she glided towards one of the side aisles. When Minna looked back a third time, their figures were no longer visible. She collected herself, and walked on to the eastern door by which she had entered, and listened for an instant to the guard, who talked together on the outside. "The Zetland girl stays a long time with this pirate fellow," said one. "I wish they have not more to speak about than the ransom of her father." "Ay, truly," answered another, "the wenches will have more sympathy with a handsome young pirate, than an old bed-ridden burgher." Their discourse was here interrupted by her of whom they were speaking; and, as if taken in the manner, they pulled off their hats, made their awkward obeisances, and looked not a little embarrassed and confused. Minna returned to the house where she lodged, much affected, yet, on the whole, pleased with the result of her expedition, which seemed to put her father out of danger, and assured her at once of the escape of Cleveland, and of the safety of young Mordaunt. She hastened to communicate both pieces of intelligence to Brenda, who joined her in thankfulness to Heaven, and was herself wellnigh persuaded to believe in Norna's supernatural pretensions, so much was she pleased with the manner in which they had been employed. Some time was spent in exchanging their mutual congratulations, and mingling tears of hope, mixed with apprehension; when, at a late hour in the evening, they were interrupted by Claud Halcro, who, full of a fidgeting sort of importance, not unmingled with fear, came to acquaint them, that the prisoner, Cleveland, had disappeared from the Cathedral, in which he had been permitted to walk, and that the Provost, having been informed that Minna was accessary to his flight, was coming, in a mighty quandary, to make enquiry into the circumstances. When the worthy Magistrate arrived, Minna did not conceal from him her own wish that Cleveland should make his escape, as the only means which she saw of redeeming her father from imminent danger. But that she had any actual accession to his flight, she positively denied; and stated, "that she had parted from Cleveland in the Cathedral, more than two hours since, and then left him in company with a third person, whose name she did not conceive herself obliged to communicate." "It is not needful, Miss Minna Troil," answered Provost Torfe; "for, although no person but this Captain Cleveland and yourself was seen to enter the Kirk of St. Magnus this day, we know well enough that your cousin, old Ulla Troil, whom you Zetlanders call Norna of Fitful-head, has been cruising up and down, upon sea and land, and air, for what I know, in boats and on ponies, and it may be on broomsticks; and here has been her dumb Drow, too, coming and going, and playing the spy on every one--and a good spy he is, for he can hear every thing, and tells nothing again, unless to his mistress. And we know, besides, that she can enter the Kirk when all the doors are fast, and has been seen there more than once, God save us from the Evil One!--and so, without farther questions asked, I conclude it was old Norna whom you left in the Kirk with this slashing blade--and, if so, they may catch them again that can.--I cannot but say, however, pretty Mistress Minna, that you Zetland folks seem to forget both law and gospel, when you use the help of witchcraft to fetch delinquents out of a legal prison; and the least that you, or your cousin, or your father, can do, is to use influence with this wild fellow to go away as soon as possible, without hurting the town or trade, and then there will be little harm in what has chanced; for, Heaven knows, I did not seek the poor lad's life, so I could get my hands free of him without blame; and far less did I wish, that, through his imprisonment, any harm should come to worthy Magnus Troil of Burgh-Westra." "I see where the shoe pinches you, Mr. Provost," said Claud Halcro, "and I am sure I can answer for my friend Mr. Troil, as well as for myself, that we will say and do all in our power with this man, Captain Cleveland, to make him leave the coast directly." "And I," said Minna, "am so convinced that what you recommend is best for all parties, that my sister and I will set off early to-morrow morning to the House of Stennis, if Mr. Halcro will give us his escort, to receive my father when he comes ashore, that we may acquaint him with your wish, and to use every influence to induce this unhappy man to leave the country." Provost Torfe looked upon her with some surprise. "It is not every young woman," he said, "would wish to move eight miles nearer to a band of pirates." "We run no risk," said Claud Halcro, interfering. "The House of Stennis is strong; and my cousin, whom it belongs to, has men and arms within it. The young ladies are as safe there as in Kirkwall; and much good may arise from an early communication between Magnus Troil and his daughters. And happy am I to see, that in your case, my good old friend,--as glorious John says,-- ----'After much debate, The man prevails above the magistrate.'" The Provost smiled, nodded his head, and indicated, as far as he thought he could do so with decency, how happy he should be if the Fortune's Favourite, and her disorderly crew, would leave Orkney without further interference, or violence on either side. He could not authorize their being supplied from the shore, he said; but, either for fear or favour, they were certain to get provisions at Stromness. This pacific magistrate then took leave of Halcro and the two ladies, who proposed the next morning, to transfer their residence to the House of Stennis, situated upon the banks of the salt-water lake of the same name, and about four miles by water from the Road of Stromness, where the Rover's vessel was lying. CHAPTER XVIII. Fly, Fleance, fly!--Thou mayst escape. _Macbeth._ It was one branch of the various arts by which Norna endeavoured to maintain her pretensions to supernatural powers, that she made herself familiarly and practically acquainted with all the secret passes and recesses, whether natural or artificial, which she could hear of, whether by tradition or otherwise, and was, by such knowledge, often enabled to perform feats which were otherwise unaccountable. Thus, when she escaped from the tabernacle at Burgh-Westra, it was by a sliding board which covered a secret passage in the wall, known to none but herself and Magnus, who, she was well assured, would not betray her. The profusion, also, with which she lavished a considerable income, otherwise of no use to her, enabled her to procure the earliest intelligence respecting whatever she desired to know, and, at the same time, to secure all other assistance necessary to carry her plans into effect. Cleveland, upon the present occasion, had reason to admire both her sagacity and her resources. Upon her applying a little forcible pressure, a door which was concealed under some rich wooden sculpture in the screen which divides the eastern aisle from the rest of the Cathedral, opened, and disclosed a dark narrow winding passage, into which she entered, telling Cleveland, in a whisper, to follow, and be sure he shut the door behind him. He obeyed, and followed her in darkness and silence, sometimes descending steps, of the number of which she always apprized him, sometimes ascending, and often turning at short angles. The air was more free than he could have expected, the passage being ventilated at different parts by unseen and ingeniously contrived spiracles, which communicated with the open air. At length their long course ended, by Norna drawing aside a sliding panel, which, opening behind a wooden, or box-bed, as it is called in Scotland, admitted them into an ancient, but very mean apartment, having a latticed window, and a groined roof. The furniture was much dilapidated; and its only ornaments were, on the one side of the wall, a garland of faded ribbons, such as are used to decorate whale-vessels; and, on the other, an escutcheon, bearing an Earl's arms and coronet, surrounded with the usual emblems of mortality. The mattock and spade, which lay in one corner, together with the appearance of an old man, who, in a rusty black coat, and slouched hat, sat reading by a table, announced that they were in the habitation of the church-beadle, or sexton, and in the presence of that respectable functionary. When his attention was attracted by the noise of the sliding panel, he arose, and, testifying much respect, but no surprise, took his shadowy hat from his thin grey locks, and stood uncovered in the presence of Norna with an air of profound humility. "Be faithful," said Norna to the old man, "and beware you show not any living mortal the secret path to the Sanctuary." The old man bowed, in token of obedience and of thanks, for she put money in his hand as she spoke. With a faltering voice, he expressed his hope that she would remember his son, who was on the Greenland voyage, that he might return fortunate and safe, as he had done last year, when he brought back the garland, pointing to that upon the wall. "My cauldron shall boil, and my rhyme shall be said, in his behalf," answered Norna. "Waits Pacolet without with the horses?" The old Sexton assented, and the Pythoness, commanding Cleveland to follow her, went through a back door of the apartment into a small garden, corresponding, in its desolate appearance, to the habitation they had just quitted. The low and broken wall easily permitted them to pass into another and larger garden, though not much better kept, and a gate, which was upon the latch, let them into a long and winding lane, through which, Norna having whispered to her companion that it was the only dangerous place on their road, they walked with a hasty pace. It was now nearly dark, and the inhabitants of the poor dwellings, on either hand, had betaken themselves to their houses. They saw only one woman, who was looking from her door, but blessed herself, and retired into her house with precipitation, when she saw the tall figure of Norna stalk past her with long strides. The lane conducted them into the country, where the dumb dwarf waited with three horses, ensconced behind the wall of a deserted shed. On one of these Norna instantly seated herself, Cleveland mounted another, and, followed by Pacolet on the third, they moved sharply on through the darkness; the active and spirited animals on which they rode being of a breed rather taller than those reared in Zetland. After more than an hour's smart riding, in which Norna acted as guide, they stopped before a hovel, so utterly desolate in appearance, that it resembled rather a cattle-shed than a cottage. "Here you must remain till dawn, when your signal can be seen from your vessel," said Norna, consigning the horses to the care of Pacolet, and leading the way into the wretched hovel, which she presently illuminated by lighting the small iron lamp which she usually carried along with her. "It is a poor," she said, "but a safe place of refuge; for were we pursued hither, the earth would yawn and admit us into its recesses ere you were taken. For know, that this ground is sacred to the Gods of old Valhalla.--And now say, man of mischief and of blood, are you friend or foe to Norna, the sole priestess of these disowned deities?" "How is it possible for me to be your enemy?" said Cleveland.--"Common gratitude"---- "Common gratitude," said Norna, interrupting him, "is a common word--and words are the common pay which fools accept at the hands of knaves; but Norna must be requited by actions--by sacrifices." "Well, mother, name your request." "That you never seek to see Minna Troil again, and that you leave this coast in twenty-four hours," answered Norna. "It is impossible," said the outlaw; "I cannot be soon enough found in the sea-stores which the sloop must have." "You can. I will take care you are fully supplied; and Caithness and the Hebrides are not far distant--you can depart if you will." "And why should I," said Cleveland, "if I will not?" "Because your stay endangers others," said Norna, "and will prove your own destruction. Hear me with attention. From the first moment I saw you lying senseless on the sand beneath the cliffs of Sumburgh, I read that in your countenance which linked you with me, and those who were dear to me; but whether for good or evil, was hidden from mine eyes. I aided in saving your life, in preserving your property. I aided in doing so, the very youth whom you have crossed in his dearest affections--crossed by tale-bearing and slander." "_I_ slander Mertoun!" exclaimed Cleveland. "By heaven, I scarce mentioned his name at Burgh-Westra, if it is that which you mean. The peddling fellow Bryce, meaning, I believe, to be my friend, because he found something could be made by me, did, I have since heard, carry tattle, or truth, I know not which, to the old man, which was confirmed by the report of the whole island. But, for me, I scarce thought of him as a rival; else, I had taken a more honourable way to rid myself of him." "Was the point of your double-edged knife, directed to the bosom of an unarmed man, intended to carve out that more honourable way?" said Norna, sternly. Cleveland was conscience-struck, and remained silent for an instant, ere he replied, "There, indeed, I was wrong; but he is, I thank Heaven, recovered, and welcome to an honourable satisfaction." "Cleveland," said the Pythoness, "No! The fiend who employs you as his implement is powerful; but with me he shall not strive. You are of that temperament which the dark Influences desire as the tools of their agency; bold, haughty, and undaunted, unrestrained by principle, and having only in its room a wild sense of indomitable pride, which such men call honour. Such you are, and as such your course through life has been--onward and unrestrained, bloody and tempestuous. By me, however, it shall be controlled," she concluded, stretching out her staff, as if in the attitude of determined authority--"ay, even although the demon who presides over it should now arise in his terrors." Cleveland laughed scornfully. "Good mother," he said, "reserve such language for the rude sailor that implores you to bestow him fair wind, or the poor fisherman that asks success to his nets and lines. I have been long inaccessible both to fear and to superstition. Call forth your demon, if you command one, and place him before me. The man that has spent years in company with incarnate devils, can scarce dread the presence of a disembodied fiend." This was said with a careless and desperate bitterness of spirit, which proved too powerfully energetic even for the delusions of Norna's insanity; and it was with a hollow and tremulous voice that she asked Cleveland--"For what, then, do you hold me, if you deny the power I have bought so dearly?" "You have wisdom, mother," said Cleveland; "at least you have art, and art is power. I hold you for one who knows how to steer upon the current of events, but I deny your power to change its course. Do not, therefore, waste words in quoting terrors for which I have no feeling, but tell me at once, wherefore you would have me depart?" "Because I will have you see Minna no more," answered Norna--"Because Minna is the destined bride of him whom men call Mordaunt Mertoun--Because if you depart not within twenty-four hours, utter destruction awaits you. In these plain words there is no metaphysical delusion--Answer me as plainly." "In as plain words, then," answered Cleveland, "I will _not_ leave these islands--not, at least, till I have seen Minna Troil; and never shall your Mordaunt possess her while I live." "Hear him!" said Norna--"hear a mortal man spurn at the means of prolonging his life!--hear a sinful--a most sinful being, refuse the time which fate yet affords for repentance, and for the salvation of an immortal soul!--Behold him how he stands erect, bold and confident in his youthful strength and courage! My eyes, unused to tears--even my eyes, which have so little cause to weep for him, are blinded with sorrow, to think what so fair a form will be ere the second sun set!" "Mother," said Cleveland, firmly, yet with some touch of sorrow in his voice, "I in part understand your threats. You know more than we do of the course of the Halcyon--perhaps have the means (for I acknowledge you have shown wonderful skill of combination in such affairs) of directing her cruise our way. Be it so,--I will not depart from my purpose for that risk. If the frigate comes hither, we have still our shoal water to trust to; and I think they will scarce cut us out with boats, as if we were a Spanish xebeck. I am therefore resolved I will hoist once more the flag under which I have cruised, avail ourselves of the thousand chances which have helped us in greater odds, and, at the worst, fight the vessel to the very last; and, when mortal man can do no more, it is but snapping a pistol in the powder-room, and, as we have lived, so will we die." There was a dead pause as Cleveland ended; and it was broken by his resuming, in a softer tone--"You have heard my answer, mother; let us debate it no further, but part in peace. I would willingly leave you a remembrance, that you may not forget a poor fellow to whom your services have been useful, and who parts with you in no unkindness, however unfriendly you are to his dearest interests.--Nay, do not shun to accept such a trifle," he said, forcing upon Norna the little silver enchased box which had been once the subject of strife betwixt Mertoun and him; "it is not for the sake of the metal, which I know you value not, but simply as a memorial that you have met him of whom many a strange tale will hereafter be told in the seas which he has traversed." "I accept your gift," said Norna, "in token that, if I have in aught been accessary to your fate, it was as the involuntary and grieving agent of other powers. Well did you say we direct not the current of the events which hurry us forward, and render our utmost efforts unavailing; even as the wells of Tuftiloe[39] can wheel the stoutest vessel round and round, in despite of either sail or steerage.--Pacolet!" she exclaimed, in a louder voice, "what, ho! Pacolet!" A large stone, which lay at the side of the wall of the hovel, fell as she spoke, and to Cleveland's surprise, if not somewhat to his fear, the misshapen form of the dwarf was seen, like some overgrown reptile, extricating himself out of a subterranean passage, the entrance to which the stone had covered. Norna, as if impressed by what Cleveland had said on the subject of her supernatural pretensions, was so far from endeavouring to avail herself of this opportunity to enforce them, that she hastened to explain the phenomenon he had witnessed. "Such passages," she said, "to which the entrances are carefully concealed, are frequently found in these islands--the places of retreat of the ancient inhabitants, where they sought refuge from the rage of the Normans, the pirates of that day. It was that you might avail yourself of this, in case of need, that I brought you hither. Should you observe signs of pursuit, you may either lurk in the bowels of the earth until it has passed by, or escape, if you will, through the farther entrance near the lake, by which Pacolet entered but now.--And now farewell! Think on what I have said; for as sure as you now move and breathe a living man, so surely is your doom fixed and sealed, unless, within four-and-twenty hours, you have doubled the Burgh-head." "Farewell, mother!" said Cleveland, as she departed, bending a look upon him, in which, as he could perceive by the lamp, sorrow was mingled with displeasure. The interview, which thus concluded, left a strong effect even upon the mind of Cleveland, accustomed as he was to imminent dangers and to hair-breadth escapes. He in vain attempted to shake off the impression left by the words of Norna, which he felt the more powerful, because they were in a great measure divested of her wonted mystical tone, which he contemned. A thousand times he regretted that he had from time to time delayed the resolution, which he had long adopted, to quit his dreadful and dangerous trade; and as often he firmly determined, that, could he but see Minna Troil once more, were it but for a last farewell, he would leave the sloop, as soon as his comrades were extricated from their perilous situation, endeavour to obtain the benefit of the King's pardon, and distinguish himself, if possible, in some more honourable course of warfare. This resolution, to which he again and again pledged himself, had at length a sedative effect on his mental perturbation, and, wrapt in his cloak, he enjoyed, for a time, that imperfect repose which exhausted nature demands as her tribute, even from those who are situated on the verge of the most imminent danger. But how far soever the guilty may satisfy his own mind, and stupify the feelings of remorse, by such a conditional repentance, we may well question whether it is not, in the sight of Heaven, rather a presumptuous aggravation, than an expiation of his sins. When Cleveland awoke, the grey dawn was already mingling with the twilight of an Orcadian night. He found himself on the verge of a beautiful sheet of water, which, close by the place where he had rested, was nearly divided by two tongues of land that approach each other from the opposing sides of the lake, and are in some degree united by the Bridge of Broisgar, a long causeway, containing openings to permit the flow and reflux of the tide. Behind him, and fronting to the bridge, stood that remarkable semicircle of huge upright stones, which has no rival in Britain, excepting the inimitable monument at Stonehenge. These immense blocks of stone, all of them above twelve feet, and several being even fourteen or fifteen feet in height, stood around the pirate in the grey light of the dawning, like the phantom forms of antediluvian giants, who, shrouded in the habiliments of the dead, came to revisit, by this pale light, the earth which they had plagued by their oppression and polluted by their sins, till they brought down upon it the vengeance of long-suffering Heaven.[40] Cleveland was less interested by this singular monument of antiquity than by the distant view of Stromness, which he could as yet scarce discover. He lost no time in striking a light, by the assistance of one of his pistols, and some wet fern supplied him with fuel sufficient to make the appointed signal. It had been earnestly watched for on board the sloop; for Goffe's incapacity became daily more apparent; and even his most steady adherents agreed it would be best to submit to Cleveland's command till they got back to the West Indies. Bunce, who came with the boat to bring off his favourite commander, danced, cursed, shouted, and spouted for joy, when he saw him once more at freedom. "They had already," he said, "made some progress in victualling the sloop, and they might have made more, but for that drunken old swab Goffe, who minded nothing but splicing the main-brace." The boat's crew were inspired with the same enthusiasm, and rowed so hard, that, although the tide was against them, and the air or wind failed, they soon placed Cleveland once more on the quarter-deck of the vessel which it was his misfortune to command. The first exercise of the Captain's power was to make known to Magnus Troil that he was at full freedom to depart--that he was willing to make him any compensation in his power, for the interruption of his voyage to Kirkwall; and that Captain Cleveland was desirous, if agreeable to Mr. Troil, to pay his respects to him on board his brig--thank him for former favours, and apologize for the circumstances attending his detention. To Bunce, who, as the most civilized of the crew, Cleveland had intrusted this message, the old plain-dealing Udaller made the following answer: "Tell your Captain that I should be glad to think he had never stopped any one upon the high sea, save such as have suffered as little as I have. Say, too, that if we are to continue friends, we shall be most so at a distance; for I like the sound of his cannon-balls as little by sea, as he would like the whistle of a bullet by land from my rifle-gun. Say, in a word, that I am sorry I was mistaken in him, and that he would have done better to have reserved for the Spaniard the usage he is bestowing on his countrymen." "And so that is your message, old Snapcholerick?" said Bunce--"Now, stap my vitals if I have not a mind to do your errand for you over the left shoulder, and teach you more respect for gentlemen of fortune! But I won't, and chiefly for the sake of your two pretty wenches, not to mention my old friend Claud Halcro, the very visage of whom brought back all the old days of scene-shifting and candle-snuffing. So good morrow to you, Gaffer Seal's-cap, and all is said that need pass between us." No sooner did the boat put off with the pirates, who left the brig, and now returned to their own vessel, than Magnus, in order to avoid reposing unnecessary confidence in the honour of these gentlemen of fortune, as they called themselves, got his brig under way; and, the wind coming favourably round, and increasing as the sun rose, he crowded all sail for Scalpa-flow, intending there to disembark and go by land to Kirkwall, where he expected to meet his daughters and his friend Claud Halcro. FOOTNOTES: [39] A _well_, in the language of those seas, denotes one of the whirlpools, or circular eddies, which wheel and boil with astonishing strength, and are very dangerous. Hence the distinction, in old English, betwixt _wells_ and _waves_, the latter signifying the direct onward course of the tide, and the former the smooth, glassy, oily-looking whirlpools, whose strength seems to the eye almost irresistible. [40] Note VII.--The Standing Stones of Stennis. CHAPTER XIX. Now, Emma, now the last reflection make, What thou wouldst follow, what thou must forsake By our ill-omen'd stars and adverse Heaven, No middle object to thy choice is given. _Henry and Emma._ The sun was high in heaven; the boats were busily fetching off from the shore the promised supply of provisions and water, which, as many fishing skiffs were employed in the service, were got on board with unexpected speed, and stowed away by the crew of the sloop, with equal dispatch. All worked with good will; for all, save Cleveland himself, were weary of a coast, where every moment increased their danger, and where, which they esteemed a worse misfortune, there was no booty to be won. Bunce and Derrick took the immediate direction of this duty, while Cleveland, walking the deck alone, and in silence, only interfered from time to time, to give some order which circumstances required, and then relapsed into his own sad reflections. There are two sorts of men whom situations of guilt, terror, and commotion, bring forward as prominent agents. The first are spirits so naturally moulded and fitted for deeds of horror, that they stalk forth from their lurking-places like actual demons, to work in their native element, as the hideous apparition of the Bearded Man came forth at Versailles, on the memorable 5th October, 1789, the delighted executioner of the victims delivered up to him by a bloodthirsty rabble. But Cleveland belonged to the second class of these unfortunate beings, who are involved in evil rather by the concurrence of external circumstances than by natural inclination, being, indeed, one in whom his first engaging in this lawless mode of life, as the follower of his father, nay, perhaps, even his pursuing it as his father's avenger, carried with it something of mitigation and apology;--one also who often considered his guilty situation with horror, and had made repeated, though ineffectual efforts, to escape from it. Such thoughts of remorse were now rolling in his mind, and he may be forgiven, if recollections of Minna mingled with and aided them. He looked around, too, on his mates, and, profligate and hardened as he knew them to be, he could not think of their paying the penalty of his obstinacy. "We shall be ready to sail with the ebb tide," he said to himself--"why should I endanger these men, by detaining them till the hour of danger, predicted by that singular woman, shall arrive? Her intelligence, howsoever acquired, has been always strangely accurate; and her warning was as solemn as if a mother were to apprize an erring son of his crimes, and of his approaching punishment. Besides, what chance is there that I can again see Minna? She is at Kirkwall, doubtless, and to hold my course thither would be to steer right upon the rocks. No, I will not endanger these poor fellows--I will sail with the ebb tide. On the desolate Hebrides, or on the north-west coast of Ireland, I will leave the vessel, and return hither in some disguise--yet why should I return, since it will perhaps be only to see Minna the bride of Mordaunt? No--let the vessel sail with this ebb tide without me. I will abide and take my fate." His meditations were here interrupted by Jack Bunce, who, hailing him noble Captain, said they were ready to sail when he pleased. "When _you_ please, Bunce; for I shall leave the command with you, and go ashore at Stromness," said Cleveland. "You shall do no such matter, by Heaven!" answered Bunce. "The command with me, truly! and how the devil am I to get the crew to obey _me_? Why, even Dick Fletcher rides rusty on me now and then. You know well enough that, without you, we shall be all at each other's throats in half an hour; and, if you desert us, what a rope's end does it signify whether we are destroyed by the king's cruisers, or by each other? Come, come, noble Captain, there are black-eyed girls enough in the world, but where will you find so tight a sea-boat as the little Favourite here, manned as she is with a set of tearing lads, 'Fit to disturb the peace of all the world, And rule it when 'tis wildest?'" "You are a precious fool, Jack Bunce," said Cleveland, half angry, and, in despite of himself, half diverted, by the false tones and exaggerated gesture of the stage-struck pirate. "It may be so, noble Captain," answered Bunce, "and it may be that I have my comrades in my folly. Here are you, now, going to play All for Love, and the World well Lost, and yet you cannot bear a harmless bounce in blank verse--Well, I can talk prose for the matter, for I have news enough to tell--and strange news, too--ay, and stirring news to boot." "Well, prithee deliver them (to speak thy own cant) like a man of this world." "The Stromness fishers will accept nothing for their provisions and trouble," said Bunce--"there is a wonder for you!" "And for what reason, I pray?" said Cleveland; "it is the first time I have ever heard of cash being refused at a seaport." "True--they commonly lay the charges on as thick as if they were caulking. But here is the matter. The owner of the brig yonder, the father of your fair Imoinda, stands paymaster, by way of thanks for the civility with which we treated his daughters, and that we may not meet our due, as he calls it, on these shores." "It is like the frank-hearted old Udaller!" said Cleveland; "but is he at Stromness? I thought he was to have crossed the island for Kirkwall." "He did so purpose," said Bunce; "but more folks than King Duncan change the course of their voyage. He was no sooner ashore than he was met with by a meddling old witch of these parts, who has her finger in every man's pie, and by her counsel he changed his purpose of going to Kirkwall, and lies at anchor for the present in yonder white house, that you may see with your glass up the lake yonder. I am told the old woman clubbed also to pay for the sloop's stores. Why she should shell out the boards I cannot conceive an idea, except that she is said to be a witch, and may befriend us as so many devils." "But who told you all this?" said Cleveland, without using his spy-glass, or seeming so much interested in the news as his comrade had expected. "Why," replied Bunce, "I made a trip ashore this morning to the village, and had a can with an old acquaintance, who had been sent by Master Troil to look after matters, and I fished it all out of him, and more, too, than I am desirous of telling you, noble Captain." "And who is your intelligencer?" said Cleveland; "has he got no name?" "Why, he is an old, fiddling, foppish acquaintance of mine, called Halcro, if you must know," said Bunce. "Halcro!" echoed Cleveland, his eyes sparkling with surprise--"Claud Halcro?--why, he went ashore at Inganess with Minna and her sister--Where are they?" "Why, that is just what I did not want to tell you," replied the confidant--"yet hang me if I can help it, for I cannot baulk a fine situation.--That start had a fine effect--O ay, and the spy-glass is turned on the House of Stennis _now_!--Well, yonder they are, it must be confessed--indifferently well guarded, too. Some of the old witch's people are come over from that mountain of an island--Hoy, as they call it; and the old gentleman has got some fellows under arms himself. But what of all that, noble Captain!--give you but the word, and we snap up the wenches to-night--clap them under hatches--man the capstern by daybreak--up topsails--and sail with the morning tide." "You sicken me with your villainy," said Cleveland, turning away from him. "Umph!--villainy, and sicken you!" said Bunce--"Now, pray, what have I said but what has been done a thousand times by gentlemen of fortune like ourselves?" "Mention it not again," said Cleveland; then took a turn along the deck, in deep meditation, and, coming back to Bunce, took him by the hand, and said, "Jack, I will see her once more." "With all my heart," said Bunce, sullenly. "Once more will I see her, and it may be to abjure at her feet this cursed trade, and expiate my offences"---- "At the gallows!" said Bunce, completing the sentence--"With all my heart!--confess and be hanged is a most reverend proverb." "Nay--but, dear Jack!" said Cleveland. "Dear Jack!" answered Bunce, in the same sullen tone--"a dear sight you have been to dear Jack. But hold your own course--I have done with caring for you for ever--I should but sicken you with my villainous counsels." "Now, must I soothe this silly fellow as if he were a spoiled child," said Cleveland, speaking at Bunce, but not to him; "and yet he has sense enough, and bravery enough, too; and, one would think, kindness enough to know that men don't pick their words during a gale of wind." "Why, that's true, Clement," said Bunce, "and there is my hand upon it--And, now I think upon't, you shall have your last interview, for it's out of my line to prevent a parting scene; and what signifies a tide--we can sail by to-morrow's ebb as well as by this." Cleveland sighed, for Norna's prediction rushed on his mind; but the opportunity of a last meeting with Minna was too tempting to be resigned either for presentiment or prediction. "I will go presently ashore to the place where they all are," said Bunce; "and the payment of these stores shall serve me for a pretext; and I will carry any letters or message from you to Minna with the dexterity of a valet de chambre." "But they have armed men--you may be in danger," said Cleveland. "Not a whit--not a whit," replied Bunce. "I protected the wenches when they were in my power; I warrant their father will neither wrong me, nor see me wronged." "You say true," said Cleveland, "it is not in his nature. I will instantly write a note to Minna." And he ran down to the cabin for that purpose, where he wasted much paper, ere, with a trembling hand, and throbbing heart, he achieved such a letter as he hoped might prevail on Minna to permit him a farewell meeting on the succeeding morning. His adherent, Bunce, in the meanwhile, sought out Fletcher, of whose support to second any motion whatever, he accounted himself perfectly sure; and, followed by this trusty satellite, he intruded himself on the awful presence of Hawkins the boatswain, and Derrick the quarter-master, who were regaling themselves with a can of rumbo, after the fatiguing duty of the day. "Here comes he can tell us," said Derrick.--"So, Master Lieutenant, for so we must call you now, I think, let us have a peep into your counsels--When will the anchor be a-trip?" "When it pleases heaven, Master Quarter-master," answered Bunce, "for I know no more than the stern-post." "Why, d----n my buttons," said Derrick, "do we not weigh this tide?" "Or to-morrow's tide, at farthest?" said the Boatswain--"Why, what have we been slaving the whole company for, to get all these stores aboard?" "Gentlemen," said Bunce, "you are to know that Cupid has laid our Captain on board, carried the vessel, and nailed down his wits under hatches." "What sort of play-stuff is all this?" said the Boatswain, gruffly. "If you have any thing to tell us, say it in a word, like a man." "Howsomdever," said Fletcher, "I always think Jack Bunce speaks like a man, and acts like a man too--and so, d'ye see"---- "Hold your peace, dear Dick, best of bullybacks, be silent," said Bunce--"Gentlemen, in one word, the Captain is in love." "Why, now, only think of that!" said the Boatswain; "not but that I have been in love as often as any man, when the ship was laid up." "Well, but," continued Bunce, "Captain Cleveland is in love--Yes--Prince Volscius is in love; and, though that's the cue for laughing on the stage, it is no laughing matter here. He expects to meet the girl to-morrow, for the last time; and that, we all know, leads to another meeting, and another, and so on till the Halcyon is down on us, and then we may look for more kicks than halfpence." "By --," said the Boatswain, with a sounding oath, "we'll have a mutiny, and not allow him to go ashore,--eh, Derrick?" "And the best way, too," said Derrick. "What d'ye think of it, Jack Bunce?" said Fletcher, in whose ears this counsel sounded very sagely, but who still bent a wistful look upon his companion. "Why, look ye, gentlemen," said Bunce, "I will mutiny none, and stap my vitals if any of you shall!" "Why, then I won't, for one," said Fletcher; "but what are we to do, since howsomdever"---- "Stopper your jaw, Dick, will you?" said Bunce.--"Now, Boatswain, I am partly of your mind, that the Captain must be brought to reason by a little wholesome force. But you all know he has the spirit of a lion, and will do nothing unless he is allowed to hold on his own course. Well, I'll go ashore and make this appointment. The girl comes to the rendezvous in the morning, and the Captain goes ashore--we take a good boat's crew with us, to row against tide and current, and we will be ready at the signal, to jump ashore and bring off the Captain and the girl, whether they will or no. The pet-child will not quarrel with us, since we bring off his whirligig along with him; and if he is still fractious, why, we will weigh anchor without his orders, and let him come to his senses at leisure, and know his friends another time." "Why, this has a face with it, Master Derrick," said Hawkins. "Jack Bunce is always right," said Fletcher; "howsomdever, the Captain will shoot some of us, that is certain." "Hold your jaw, Dick," said Bunce; "pray, who the devil cares, do you think, whether you are shot or hanged?" "Why, it don't much argufy for the matter of that," replied Dick; "howsomdever"---- "Be quiet, I tell you," said his inexorable patron, "and hear me out.--We will take him at unawares, so that he shall neither have time to use cutlass nor pops; and I myself, for the dear love I bear him, will be the first to lay him on his back. There is a nice tight-going bit of a pinnace, that is a consort of this chase of the Captain's,--if I have an opportunity, I'll snap her up on my own account." "Yes, yes," said Derrick, "let you alone for keeping on the look-out for your own comforts." "Faith, nay," said Bunce, "I only snatch at them when they come fairly in my way, or are purchased by dint of my own wit; and none of you could have fallen on such a plan as this. We shall have the Captain with us, head, hand, and heart and all, besides making a scene fit to finish a comedy. So I will go ashore to make the appointment, and do you possess some of the gentlemen who are still sober, and fit to be trusted, with the knowledge of our intentions." Bunce, with his friend Fletcher, departed accordingly, and the two veteran pirates remained looking at each other in silence, until the Boatswain spoke at last. "Blow me, Derrick, if I like these two daffadandilly young fellows; they are not the true breed. Why, they are no more like the rovers I have known, than this sloop is to a first-rate. Why, there was old Sharpe that read prayers to his ship's company every Sunday, what would he have said to have heard it proposed to bring two wenches on board?" "And what would tough old Black Beard have said," answered his companion, "if they had expected to keep them to themselves? They deserve to be made to walk the plank for their impudence; or to be tied back to back and set a-diving, and I care not how soon." "Ay, but who is to command the ship, then?" said Hawkins. "Why, what ails you at old Goffe?" answered Derrick. "Why, he has sucked the monkey so long and so often," said the Boatswain, "that the best of him is buffed. He is little better than an old woman when he is sober, and he is roaring mad when he is drunk--we have had enough of Goffe." "Why, then, what d'ye say to yourself, or to me, Boatswain?" demanded the Quarter-master. "I am content to toss up for it." "Rot it, no," answered the Boatswain, after a moment's consideration; "if we were within reach of the trade-winds, we might either of us make a shift; but it will take all Cleveland's navigation to get us there; and so, I think, there is nothing like Bunce's project for the present. Hark, he calls for the boat--I must go on deck and have her lowered for his honour, d----n his eyes." The boat was lowered accordingly, made its voyage up the lake with safety, and landed Bunce within a few hundred yards of the old mansion-house of Stennis. Upon arriving in front of the house, he found that hasty measures had been taken to put it in a state of defence, the lower windows being barricaded, with places left for use of musketry, and a ship-gun being placed so as to command the entrance, which was besides guarded by two sentinels. Bunce demanded admission at the gate, which was briefly and unceremoniously refused, with an exhortation to him, at the same time, to be gone about his business before worse came of it. As he continued, however, importunately to insist on seeing some one of the family, and stated his business to be of the most urgent nature, Claud Halcro at length appeared, and, with more peevishness than belonged to his usual manner, that admirer of glorious John expostulated with his old acquaintance upon his pertinacious folly. "You are," he said, "like foolish moths fluttering about a candle, which is sure at last to consume you." "And you," said Bunce, "are a set of stingless drones, whom we can smoke out of your defences at our pleasure, with half-a-dozen of hand-grenades." "Smoke a fool's head!" said Halcro; "take my advice, and mind your own matters, or there will be those upon you will smoke you to purpose. Either begone, or tell me in two words what you want; for you are like to receive no welcome here save from a blunderbuss. We are men enough of ourselves; and here is young Mordaunt Mertoun come from Hoy, whom your Captain so nearly murdered." "Tush, man," said Bunce, "he did but let out a little malapert blood." "We want no such phlebotomy here," said Claud Halcro; "and, besides, your patient turns out to be nearer allied to us than either you or we thought of; so you may think how little welcome the Captain or any of his crew are like to be here." "Well; but what if I bring money for the stores sent on board?" "Keep it till it is asked of you," said Halcro. "There are two bad paymasters--he that pays too soon, and he that does not pay at all." "Well, then, let me at least give our thanks to the donor," said Bunce. "Keep them, too, till they are asked for," answered the poet. "So this is all the welcome I have of you for old acquaintance' sake?" said Bunce. "Why, what can I do for you, Master Altamont?" said Halcro, somewhat moved.--"If young Mordaunt had had his own will, he would have welcomed you with 'the red Burgundy, Number a thousand.' For God's sake begone, else the stage direction will be, Enter guard, and seize Altamont." "I will not give you the trouble," said Bunce, "but will make my exit instantly.--Stay a moment--I had almost forgot that I have a slip of paper for the tallest of your girls there--Minna, ay, Minna is her name. It is a farewell from Captain Cleveland--you cannot refuse to give it her?" "Ah, poor fellow!" said Halcro--"I comprehend--I comprehend--Farewell, fair Armida-- ''Mid pikes and 'mid bullets, 'mid tempests and fire, The danger is less than in hopeless desire!' Tell me but this--is there poetry in it?" "Chokeful to the seal, with song, sonnet, and elegy," answered Bunce; "but let her have it cautiously and secretly." "Tush, man!--teach me to deliver a billet-doux!--me, who have been in the Wits' Coffee-house, and have seen all the toasts of the Kit-Cat Club!--Minna shall have it, then, for old acquaintance' sake, Mr. Altamont, and for your Captain's sake, too, who has less of the core of devil about him than his trade requires. There can be no harm in a farewell letter." "Farewell, then, old boy, for ever and a day!" said Bunce; and seizing the poet's hand, gave it so hearty a gripe, that he left him roaring, and shaking his fist, like a dog when a hot cinder has fallen on his foot. Leaving the rover to return on board the vessel, we remain with the family of Magnus Troil, assembled at their kinsman's mansion of Stennis, where they maintained a constant and careful watch against surprise. Mordaunt Mertoun had been received with much kindness by Magnus Troil, when he came to his assistance, with a small party of Norna's dependants, placed by her under his command. The Udaller was easily satisfied that the reports instilled into his ears by the Jagger, zealous to augment his favour towards his more profitable customer Cleveland, by diminishing that of Mertoun, were without foundation. They had, indeed, been confirmed by the good Lady Glowrowrum, and by common fame, both of whom were pleased to represent Mordaunt Mertoun as an arrogant pretender to the favour of the sisters of Burgh-Westra, who only hesitated, sultan-like, on whom he should bestow the handkerchief. But common fame, Magnus considered, was a common liar, and he was sometimes disposed (where scandal was concerned) to regard the good Lady Glowrowrum as rather an uncommon specimen of the same genus. He therefore received Mordaunt once more into full favour, listened with much surprise to the claim which Norna laid to the young man's duty, and with no less interest to her intention of surrendering to him the considerable property which she had inherited from her father. Nay, it is even probable that, though he gave no immediate answer to her hints concerning an union betwixt his eldest daughter and her heir, he might think such an alliance recommended, as well by the young man's personal merits, as by the chance it gave of reuniting the very large estate which had been divided betwixt his own father and that of Norna. At all events, the Udaller received his young friend with much kindness, and he and the proprietor of the mansion joined in intrusting to him, as the youngest and most active of the party, the charge of commanding the night-watch, and relieving the sentinels around the House of Stennis. CHAPTER XX. Of an outlawe, this is the lawe-- That men him take and bind, Without pitie hang'd to be, And waive with the wind. _The Ballad of the Nut Brown Maid._ Mordaunt had caused the sentinels who had been on duty since midnight to be relieved ere the peep of day, and having given directions that the guard should be again changed at sunrise, he had retired to a small parlour, and, placing his arms beside him, was slumbering in an easy-chair, when he felt himself pulled by the watch-cloak in which he was enveloped. "Is it sunrise," said he, "already?" as, starting up, he discovered the first beams lying level upon the horizon. "Mordaunt!" said a voice, every note of which thrilled to his heart. He turned his eyes on the speaker, and Brenda Troil, to his joyful astonishment, stood before him. As he was about to address her eagerly, he was checked by observing the signs of sorrow and discomposure in her pale cheeks, trembling lips, and brimful eyes. "Mordaunt," she said, "you must do Minna and me a favour--you must allow us to leave the house quietly, and without alarming any one, in order to go as far as the Standing Stones of Stennis." "What freak can this be, dearest Brenda?" said Mordaunt, much amazed at the request--"some Orcadian observance of superstition, perhaps; but the time is too dangerous, and my charge from your father too strict, that I should permit you to pass without his consent. Consider, dearest Brenda, I am a soldier on duty, and must obey orders." "Mordaunt," said Brenda, "this is no jesting matter--Minna's reason, nay, Minna's life, depends on your giving us this permission." "And for what purpose?" said Mordaunt; "let me at least know that." "For a wild and a desperate purpose," replied Brenda--"It is that she may meet Cleveland." "Cleveland!" said Mordaunt--"Should the villain come ashore, he shall be welcomed with a shower of rifle-balls. Let me within a hundred yards of him," he added, grasping his piece, "and all the mischief he has done me shall be balanced with an ounce bullet!" "His death will drive Minna frantic," said Brenda; "and him who injures Minna, Brenda will never again look upon." "This is madness--raving madness!" said Mordaunt--"Consider your honour--consider your duty." "I can consider nothing but Minna's danger," said Brenda, breaking into a flood of tears; "her former illness was nothing to the state she has been in all night. She holds in her hand his letter, written in characters of fire, rather than of ink, imploring her to see him, for a last farewell, as she would save a mortal body, and an immortal soul; pledging himself for her safety; and declaring no power shall force him from the coast till he has seen her.--You _must_ let us pass." "It is impossible!" replied Mordaunt, in great perplexity--"This ruffian has imprecations enough, doubtless, at his fingers' ends--but what better pledge has he to offer?--I cannot permit Minna to go." "I suppose," said Brenda, somewhat reproachfully, while she dried her tears, yet still continued sobbing, "that there is something in what Norna spoke of betwixt Minna and you; and that you are too jealous of this poor wretch, to allow him even to speak with her an instant before his departure." "You are unjust," said Mordaunt, hurt, and yet somewhat flattered by her suspicions,--"you are as unjust as you are imprudent. You know--you cannot but know--that Minna is chiefly dear to me as _your_ sister. Tell me, Brenda--and tell me truly--if I aid you in this folly, have you no suspicion of the Pirate's faith!" "No, none," said Brenda; "if I had any, do you think I would urge you thus? He is wild and unhappy, but I think we may in this trust him." "Is the appointed place the Standing Stones, and the time daybreak?" again demanded Mordaunt. "It is, and the time is come," said Brenda,--"for Heaven's sake let us depart!" "I will myself," said Mordaunt, "relieve the sentinel at the front door for a few minutes, and suffer you to pass.--You will not protract this interview, so full of danger?" "We will not," said Brenda; "and you, on your part, will not avail yourself of this unhappy man's venturing hither, to harm or to seize him?" "Rely on my honour," said Mordaunt--"He shall have no harm, unless he offers any." "Then I go to call my sister," said Brenda, and quickly left the apartment. Mordaunt considered the matter for an instant, and then going to the sentinel at the front door, he desired him to run instantly to the main-guard, and order the whole to turn out with their arms--to see the order obeyed, and to return when they were in readiness. Meantime, he himself, he said, would remain upon the post. During the interval of the sentinel's absence, the front door was slowly opened, and Minna and Brenda appeared, muffled in their mantles. The former leaned on her sister, and kept her face bent on the ground, as one who felt ashamed of the step she was about to take. Brenda also passed her lover in silence, but threw back upon him a look of gratitude and affection, which doubled, if possible, his anxiety for their safety. The sisters, in the meanwhile, passed out of sight of the house; when Minna, whose step, till that time, had been faint and feeble, began to erect her person, and to walk with a pace so firm and so swift, that Brenda, who had some difficulty to keep up with her, could not forbear remonstrating on the imprudence of hurrying her spirits, and exhausting her force, by such unnecessary haste. "Fear not, my dearest sister," said Minna; "the spirit which I now feel will, and must, sustain me through the dreadful interview. I could not but move with a drooping head, and dejected pace, while I was in view of one who must necessarily deem me deserving of his pity, or his scorn. But you know, my dearest Brenda, and Mordaunt shall also know, that the love I bore to that unhappy man, was as pure as the rays of that sun, that is now reflected on the waves. And I dare attest that glorious sun, and yonder blue heaven, to bear me witness, that, but to urge him to change his unhappy course of life, I had not, for all the temptations this round world holds, ever consented to see him more." As she spoke thus, in a tone which afforded much confidence to Brenda, the sisters attained the summit of a rising ground, whence they commanded a full view of the Orcadian Stonehenge, consisting of a huge circle and semicircle of the Standing Stones, as they are called, which already glimmered a greyish white in the rising sun, and projected far to the westward their long gigantic shadows. At another time, the scene would have operated powerfully on the imaginative mind of Minna, and interested the curiosity at least of her less sensitive sister. But, at this moment, neither was at leisure to receive the impressions which this stupendous monument of antiquity is so well calculated to impress on the feelings of those who behold it; for they saw, in the lower lake, beneath what is termed the Bridge of Broisgar, a boat well manned and armed, which had disembarked one of its crew, who advanced alone, and wrapped in a naval cloak, towards that monumental circle which they themselves were about to reach from another quarter. "They are many, and they are armed," said the startled Brenda, in a whisper to her sister. "It is for precaution's sake," answered Minna, "which, alas, their condition renders but too necessary. Fear no treachery from him--that, at least, is not his vice." As she spoke, or shortly afterwards, she attained the centre of the circle, on which, in the midst of the tall erect pillars of rude stone that are raised around, lies one flat and prostrate, supported by short stone pillars, of which some relics are still visible, that had once served, perhaps, the purpose of an altar. "Here," she said, "in heathen times (if we may believe legends, which have cost me but too dear) our ancestors offered sacrifices to heathen deities--and here will I, from my soul, renounce, abjure, and offer up to a better and a more merciful God than was known to them, the vain ideas with which my youthful imagination has been seduced." She stood by the prostrate table of stone, and saw Cleveland advance towards her, with a timid pace, and a downcast look, as different from his usual character and bearing, as Minna's high air and lofty demeanour, and calm contemplative posture, were distant from those of the love-lorn and broken-hearted maiden, whose weight had almost borne down the support of her sister as she left the House of Stennis. If the belief of those is true, who assign these singular monuments exclusively to the Druids, Minna might have seemed the Haxa, or high priestess of the order, from whom some champion of the tribe expected inauguration. Or, if we hold the circles of Gothic and Scandinavian origin, she might have seemed a descended Vision of Freya, the spouse of the Thundering Deity, before whom some bold Sea-King or champion bent with an awe, which no mere mortal terror could have inflicted upon him. Brenda, overwhelmed with inexpressible fear and doubt, remained a pace or two behind, anxiously observing the motions of Cleveland, and attending to nothing around, save to him and to her sister. Cleveland approached within two yards of Minna, and bent his head to the ground. There was a dead pause, until Minna said, in a firm but melancholy tone, "Unhappy man, why didst thou seek this aggravation of our woe? Depart in peace, and may Heaven direct thee to a better course than that which thy life has yet held!" "Heaven will not aid me," said Cleveland, "excepting by your voice. I came hither rude and wild, scarce knowing that my trade, my desperate trade, was more criminal in the sight of man or of Heaven, than that of those privateers whom your law acknowledges. I was bred in it, and, but for the wishes you have encouraged me to form, I should have perhaps died in it, desperate and impenitent. O, do not throw me from you! let me do something to redeem what I have done amiss, and do not leave your own work half-finished!" "Cleveland," said Minna, "I will not reproach you with abusing my inexperience, or with availing yourself of those delusions which the credulity of early youth had flung around me, and which led me to confound your fatal course of life with the deeds of our ancient heroes. Alas, when I saw your followers, that illusion was no more!--but I do not upbraid you with its having existed. Go, Cleveland; detach yourself from those miserable wretches with whom you are associated, and believe me, that if Heaven yet grants you the means of distinguishing your name by one good or glorious action, there are eyes left in those lonely islands, that will weep as much for joy, as--as--they must now do for sorrow." "And is this all?" said Cleveland; "and may I not hope, that if I extricate myself from my present associates--if I can gain my pardon by being as bold in the right, as I have been too often in the wrong cause--if, after a term, I care not how long--but still a term which may have an end, I can boast of having redeemed my fame--may I not--may I not hope that Minna may forgive what my God and my country shall have pardoned?" "Never, Cleveland, never!" said Minna, with the utmost firmness; "on this spot we part, and part for ever, and part without longer indulgence. Think of me as of one dead, if you continue as you now are; but if, which may Heaven grant, you change your fatal course, think of me then as one, whose morning and evening prayers will be for your happiness, though she has lost her own.--Farewell, Cleveland!" He kneeled, overpowered by his own bitter feelings, to take the hand which she held out to him, and in that instant, his confidant Bunce, starting from behind one of the large upright pillars, his eyes wet with tears, exclaimed-- "Never saw such a parting scene on any stage! But I'll be d----d if you make your exit as you expect!" And so saying, ere Cleveland could employ either remonstrance or resistance, and indeed before he could get upon his feet, he easily secured him by pulling him down on his back, so that two or three of the boat's crew seized him by the arms and legs, and began to hurry him towards the lake. Minna and Brenda shrieked, and attempted to fly; but Derrick snatched up the former with as much ease as a falcon pounces on a pigeon, while Bunce, with an oath or two which were intended to be of a consolatory nature, seized on Brenda; and the whole party, with two or three of the other pirates, who, stealing from the water-side, had accompanied them on the ambuscade, began hastily to run towards the boat, which was left in charge of two of their number. Their course, however, was unexpectedly interrupted, and their criminal purpose entirely frustrated. When Mordaunt Mertoun had turned out his guard in arms, it was with the natural purpose of watching over the safety of the two sisters. They had accordingly closely observed the motions of the pirates, and when they saw so many of them leave the boat and steal towards the place of rendezvous assigned to Cleveland, they naturally suspected treachery, and by cover of an old hollow way or trench, which perhaps had anciently been connected with the monumental circle, they had thrown themselves unperceived between the pirates and their boat. At the cries of the sisters, they started up and placed themselves in the way of the ruffians, presenting their pieces, which, notwithstanding, they dared not fire, for fear of hurting the young ladies, secured as they were in the rude grasp of the marauders. Mordaunt, however, advanced with the speed of a wild deer on Bunce, who, loath to quit his prey, yet unable to defend himself otherwise, turned to this side and that alternately, exposing Brenda to the blows which Mordaunt offered at him. This defence, however, proved in vain against a youth, possessed of the lightest foot and most active hand ever known in Zetland, and after a feint or two, Mordaunt brought the pirate to the ground with a stroke from the but of the carabine, which he dared not use otherwise. At the same time fire-arms were discharged on either side by those who were liable to no such cause of forbearance, and the pirates who had hold of Cleveland, dropped him, naturally enough, to provide for their own defence or retreat. But they only added to the numbers of their enemies; for Cleveland, perceiving Minna in the arms of Derrick, snatched her from the ruffian with one hand, and with the other shot him dead on the spot. Two or three more of the pirates fell or were taken, the rest fled to their boat, pushed off, then turned their broadside to the shore, and fired repeatedly on the Orcadian party, which they returned, with little injury on either side. Meanwhile Mordaunt, having first seen that the sisters were at liberty and in full flight towards the house, advanced on Cleveland with his cutlass drawn. The pirate presented a pistol, and calling out at the same time,--"Mordaunt, I never missed my aim," he fired into the air, and threw it into the lake; then drew his cutlass, brandished it round his head, and flung that also as far as his arm could send it, in the same direction. Yet such was the universal belief of his personal strength and resources, that Mordaunt still used precaution, as, advancing on Cleveland, he asked if he surrendered. "I surrender to no man," said the Pirate-captain; "but you may see I have thrown away my weapons." He was immediately seized by some of the Orcadians without his offering any resistance; but the instant interference of Mordaunt prevented his being roughly treated, or bound. The victors conducted him to a well-secured upper apartment in the House of Stennis, and placed a sentinel at the door. Bunce and Fletcher, both of whom had been stretched on the field during the skirmish, were lodged in the same chamber; and two prisoners, who appeared of lower rank, were confined in a vault belonging to the mansion. Without pretending to describe the joy of Magnus Troil, who, when awakened by the noise and firing, found his daughters safe, and his enemy a prisoner, we shall only say, it was so great, that he forgot, for the time at least, to enquire what circumstances were those which had placed them in danger; that he hugged Mordaunt to his breast a thousand times, as their preserver; and swore as often by the bones of his sainted namesake, that if he had a thousand daughters, so tight a lad, and so true a friend, should have the choice of them, let Lady Glowrowrum say what she would. A very different scene was passing in the prison-chamber of the unfortunate Cleveland and his associates. The Captain sat by the window, his eyes bent on the prospect of the sea which it presented, and was seemingly so intent on it, as to be insensible of the presence of the others. Jack Bunce stood meditating some ends of verse, in order to make his advances towards a reconciliation with Cleveland; for he began to be sensible, from the consequences, that the part he had played towards his Captain, however well intended, was neither lucky in its issue, nor likely to be well taken. His admirer and adherent Fletcher lay half asleep, as it seemed, on a truckle-bed in the room, without the least attempt to interfere in the conversation which ensued. "Nay, but speak to me, Clement," said the penitent Lieutenant, "if it be but to swear at me for my stupidity! 'What! not an oath?--Nay, then the world goes hard, If Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.'" "I prithee peace, and be gone!" said Cleveland; "I have one bosom friend left yet, and you will make me bestow its contents on you, or on myself." "I have it!" said Bunce, "I have it!" and on he went in the vein of Jaffier-- "'Then, by the hell I merit, I'll not leave thee, Till to thyself at least thou'rt reconciled, However thy resentment deal with me!'" "I pray you once more to be silent," said Cleveland--"Is it not enough that you have undone me with your treachery, but you must stun me with your silly buffoonery?--I would not have believed _you_ would have lifted a finger against me, Jack, of any man or devil in yonder unhappy ship." "Who, I?" exclaimed Bunce, "I lift a finger against you!--and if I did, it was in pure love, and to make you the happiest fellow that ever trode a deck, with your mistress beside you, and fifty fine fellows at your command. Here is Dick Fletcher can bear witness I did all for the best, if he would but speak, instead of lolloping there like a Dutch dogger laid up to be careened.--Get up, Dick, and speak for me, won't you?" "Why, yes, Jack Bunce," answered Fletcher, raising himself with difficulty, and speaking feebly, "I will if I can--and I always knew you spoke and did for the best--but howsomdever, d'ye see, it has turned out for the worst for me this time, for I am bleeding to death, I think." "You cannot be such an ass!" said Jack Bunce, springing to his assistance, as did Cleveland. But human aid came too late--he sunk back on the bed, and, turning on his face, expired without a groan. "I always thought him a d----d fool," said Bunce, as he wiped a tear from his eye, "but never such a consummate idiot as to hop the perch so sillily. I have lost the best follower"--and he again wiped his eye. Cleveland looked on the dead body, the rugged features of which had remained unaltered by the death-pang--"A bull-dog," he said, "of the true British breed, and, with a better counsellor, would have been a better man." "You may say that of some other folks, too, Captain, if you are minded to do them justice," said Bunce. "I may indeed, and especially of yourself," said Cleveland, in reply. "Why then, say, _Jack, I forgive you_," said Bunce; "it's but a short word, and soon spoken." "I forgive you from all my soul, Jack," said Cleveland, who had resumed his situation at the window; "and the rather that your folly is of little consequence--the morning is come that must bring ruin on us all." "What! you are thinking of the old woman's prophecy you spoke of?" said Bunce. "It will soon be accomplished," answered Cleveland. "Come hither; what do you take yon large square-rigged vessel for, that you see doubling the headland on the east, and opening the Bay of Stromness?" "Why, I can't make her well out," said Bunce, "but yonder is old Goffe, takes her for a West Indiaman loaded with rum and sugar, I suppose, for d----n me if he does not slip cable, and stand out to her!" "Instead of running into the shoal-water, which was his only safety," said Cleveland--"The fool! the dotard! the drivelling, drunken idiot!--he will get his flip hot enough; for yon is the Halcyon--See, she hoists her colours and fires a broadside! and there will soon be an end of the Fortune's Favourite! I only hope they will fight her to the last plank. The Boatswain used to be stanch enough, and so is Goffe, though an incarnate demon.--Now she shoots away, with all the sail she can spread, and that shows some sense." "Up goes the Jolly Hodge, the old black flag, with the death's head and hour-glass, and that shows some spunk," added his comrade. "The hour-glass is turned for us, Jack, for this bout--our sand is running fast.--Fire away yet, my roving lads! The deep sea or the blue sky, rather than a rope and a yard-arm!" There was a moment of anxious and dead silence; the sloop, though hard pressed, maintaining still a running fight, and the frigate continuing in full chase, but scarce returning a shot. At length the vessels neared each other, so as to show that the man-of-war intended to board the sloop, instead of sinking her, probably to secure the plunder which might be in the pirate vessel. "Now, Goffe--now, Boatswain!" exclaimed Cleveland, in an ecstasy of impatience, and as if they could have heard his commands, "stand by sheets and tacks--rake her with a broadside, when you are under her bows, then about ship, and go off on the other tack like a wild-goose. The sails shiver--the helm's a-lee--Ah!--deep-sea sink the lubbers!--they miss stays, and the frigate runs them aboard!" Accordingly, the various man[oe]uvres of the chase had brought them so near, that Cleveland, with his spy-glass, could see the man-of-war's-men boarding by the yards and bowsprit, in irresistible numbers, their naked cutlasses flashing in the sun, when, at that critical moment, both ships were enveloped in a cloud of thick black smoke, which suddenly arose on board the captured pirate. "Exeunt omnes!" said Bunce, with clasped hands. "There went the Fortune's Favourite, ship and crew!" said Cleveland, at the same instant. But the smoke immediately clearing away, showed that the damage had only been partial, and that, from want of a sufficient quantity of powder, the pirates had failed in their desperate attempt to blow up their vessel with the Halcyon. Shortly after the action was over, Captain Weatherport of the Halcyon sent an officer and a party of marines to the House of Stennis, to demand from the little garrison the pirate seamen who were their prisoners, and, in particular, Cleveland and Bunce, who acted as Captain and Lieutenant of the gang. This was a demand which was not to be resisted, though Magnus Troil could have wished sincerely that the roof under which he lived had been allowed as an asylum at least to Cleveland. But the officer's orders were peremptory; and he added, it was Captain Weatherport's intention to land the other prisoners, and send the whole, with a sufficient escort, across the island to Kirkwall, in order to undergo an examination there before the civil authorities, previous to their being sent off to London for trial at the High Court of Admiralty. Magnus could therefore only intercede for good usage to Cleveland, and that he might not be stripped or plundered, which the officer, struck by his good mien, and compassionating his situation, readily promised. The honest Udaller would have said something in the way of comfort to Cleveland himself, but he could not find words to express it, and only shook his head. "Old friend," said Cleveland, "you may have much to complain of--yet you pity instead of exulting over me--for the sake of you and yours, I will never harm human being more. Take this from me--my last hope, but my last temptation also"--he drew from his bosom a pocket-pistol, and gave it to Magnus Troil. "Remember me to--But no--let every one forget me.--I am your prisoner, sir," said he to the officer. "And I also," said poor Bunce; and putting on a theatrical countenance, he ranted, with no very perceptible faltering in his tone, the words of Pierre: "'Captain, you should be a gentleman of honour: Keep off the rabble, that I may have room To entertain my fate, and die with decency.'" CHAPTER XXI. Joy, joy, in London now! SOUTHEY. The news of the capture of the Rover reached Kirkwall, about an hour before noon, and filled all men with wonder and with joy. Little business was that day done at the Fair, whilst people of all ages and occupations streamed from the place to see the prisoners as they were marched towards Kirkwall, and to triumph in the different appearance which they now bore, from that which they had formerly exhibited when ranting, swaggering, and bullying in the streets of that town. The bayonets of the marines were soon seen to glisten in the sun, and then came on the melancholy troop of captives, handcuffed two and two together. Their finery had been partly torn from them by their captors, partly hung in rags about them; many were wounded and covered with blood, many blackened and scorched with the explosion, by which a few of the most desperate had in vain striven to blow up the vessel. Most of them seemed sullen and impenitent, some were more becomingly affected with their condition, and a few braved it out, and sung the same ribald songs to which they had made the streets of Kirkwall ring when they were in their frolics. The Boatswain and Goffe, coupled together, exhausted themselves in threats and imprecations against each other; the former charging Goffe with want of seamanship, and the latter alleging that the Boatswain had prevented him from firing the powder that was stowed forward, and so sending them all to the other world together. Last came Cleveland and Bunce, who were permitted to walk unshackled; the decent melancholy, yet resolved manner of the former, contrasting strongly with the stage strut and swagger which poor Jack thought it fitting to assume, in order to conceal some less dignified emotions. The former was looked upon with compassion, the latter with a mixture of scorn and pity; while most of the others inspired horror, and even fear, by their looks and their language. There was one individual in Kirkwall, who was so far from hastening to see the sight which attracted all eyes, that he was not even aware of the event which agitated the town. This was the elder Mertoun, whose residence Kirkwall had been for two or three days, part of which had been spent in attending to some judicial proceedings, undertaken at the instance of the Procurator Fiscal, against that grave professor, Bryce Snailsfoot. In consequence of an inquisition into the proceedings of this worthy trader, Cleveland's chest, with his papers and other matters therein contained, had been restored to Mertoun, as the lawful custodier thereof, until the right owner should be in a situation to establish his right to them. Mertoun was at first desirous to throw back upon Justice the charge which she was disposed to intrust him with; but, on perusing one or two of the papers, he hastily changed his mind--in broken words, requested the Magistrate to let the chest be sent to his lodgings, and, hastening homeward, bolted himself into the room, to consider and digest the singular information which chance had thus conveyed to him, and which increased, in a tenfold degree, his impatience for an interview with the mysterious Norna of the Fitful-head. It may be remembered that she had required of him, when they met in the Churchyard of Saint Ninian, to attend in the outer isle of the Cathedral of Saint Magnus, at the hour of noon, on the fifth day of the Fair of Saint Olla, there to meet a person by whom the fate of Mordaunt would be explained to him.--"It must be herself," he said; "and that I should see her at this moment is indispensable. How to find her sooner, I know not; and better lose a few hours even in this exigence, than offend her by a premature attempt to force myself on her presence." Long, therefore, before noon--long before the town of Kirkwall was agitated by the news of the events on the other side of the island, the elder Mertoun was pacing the deserted aisle of the Cathedral, awaiting, with agonizing eagerness, the expected communication from Norna. The bell tolled twelve--no door opened--no one was seen to enter the Cathedral; but the last sounds had not ceased to reverberate through the vaulted roof, when, gliding from one of the interior side-aisles, Norna stood before him. Mertoun, indifferent to the apparent mystery of her sudden approach, (with the secret of which the reader is acquainted,) went up to her at once, with the earnest ejaculation--"Ulla--Ulla Troil--aid me to save our unhappy boy!" "To Ulla Troil," said Norna, "I answer not--I gave that name to the winds, on the night that cost me a father!" "Speak not of that night of horror," said Mertoun; "we have need of our reason--let us not think on recollections which may destroy it; but aid me, if thou canst, to save our unfortunate child!" "Vaughan," answered Norna, "he is already saved--long since saved; think you a mother's hand--and that of such a mother as I am--would await your crawling, tardy, ineffectual assistance? No, Vaughan--I make myself known to you, but to show my triumph over you--it is the only revenge which the powerful Norna permits herself to take for the wrongs of Ulla Troil." "Have you indeed saved him--saved him from the murderous crew?" said Mertoun, or Vaughan--"speak!--and speak truth!--I will believe every thing--all you would require me to assent to!--prove to me only he is escaped and safe!" "Escaped and safe, by my means," said Norna--"safe, and in assurance of an honoured and happy alliance. Yes, great unbeliever!--yes, wise and self-opinioned infidel!--these were the works of Norna! I knew you many a year since; but never had I made myself known to you, save with the triumphant consciousness of having controlled the destiny that threatened my son. All combined against him--planets which threatened drowning--combinations which menaced blood--but my skill was superior to all.--I arranged--I combined--I found means--I made them--each disaster has been averted;--and what infidel on earth, or stubborn demon beyond the bounds of earth, shall hereafter deny my power?" The wild ecstasy with which she spoke, so much resembled triumphant insanity, that Mertoun answered--"Were your pretensions less lofty, and your speech more plain, I should be better assured of my son's safety." "Doubt on, vain sceptic!" said Norna--"And yet know, that not only is our son safe, but vengeance is mine, though I sought it not--vengeance on the powerful implement of the darker Influences by whom my schemes were so often thwarted, and even the life of my son endangered.--Yes, take it as a guarantee of the truth of my speech, that Cleveland--the pirate Cleveland--even now enters Kirkwall as a prisoner, and will soon expiate with his life the having shed blood which is of kin to Norna's." "Who didst thou say was prisoner?" exclaimed Mertoun, with a voice of thunder--"_Who_, woman, didst thou say should expiate his crimes with his life?" "Cleveland--the pirate Cleveland!" answered Norna; "and by me, whose counsel he scorned, he has been permitted to meet his fate." "Thou most wretched of women!" said Mertoun, speaking from between his clenched teeth,--"thou hast slain thy son, as well as thy father!" "My son!--what son?--what mean you?--Mordaunt is your son--your only son!" exclaimed Norna--"is he not?--tell me quickly--is he not?" "Mordaunt is indeed _my_ son," said Mertoun--"the laws, at least, gave him to me as such--But, O unhappy Ulla! Cleveland is your son as well as mine--blood of our blood, bone of our bone; and if you have given him to death, I will end my wretched life along with him!" "Stay--hold--stop, Vaughan!" said Norna; "I am not yet overcome--prove but to me the truth of what you say, I would find help, if I should evoke hell!--But prove your words, else believe them I cannot." "_Thou_ help! wretched, overweening woman!--in what have thy combinations and thy stratagems--the legerdemain of lunacy--the mere quackery of insanity--in what have these involved thee?--and yet I will speak to thee as reasonable--nay, I will admit thee as powerful--Hear, then, Ulla, the proofs which you demand, and find a remedy, if thou canst:-- "When I fled from Orkney," he continued, after a pause--"it is now five-and-twenty years since--I bore with me the unhappy offspring to whom you had given light. It was sent to me by one of your kinswomen, with an account of your illness, which was soon followed by a generally received belief of your death. It avails not to tell in what misery I left Europe. I found refuge in Hispaniola, wherein a fair young Spaniard undertook the task of comforter. I married her--she became mother of the youth called Mordaunt Mertoun." "You married her!" said Norna, in a tone of deep reproach. "I did, Ulla," answered Mertoun; "but you were avenged. She proved faithless, and her infidelity left me in doubts whether the child she bore had a right to call me father--But I also was avenged." "You murdered her!" said Norna, with a dreadful shriek. "I did that," said Mertoun, without a more direct reply, "which made an instant flight from Hispaniola necessary. Your son I carried with me to Tortuga, where we had a small settlement. Mordaunt Vaughan, my son by marriage, about three or four years younger, was residing in Port-Royal, for the advantages of an English education. I resolved never to see him again, but I continued to support him. Our settlement was plundered by the Spaniards, when Clement was but fifteen--Want came to aid despair and a troubled conscience. I became a corsair, and involved Clement in the same desperate trade. His skill and bravery, though then a mere boy, gained him a separate command; and after a lapse of two or three years, while we were on different cruises, my crew rose on me, and left me for dead on the beach of one of the Bermudas. I recovered, however, and my first enquiries, after a tedious illness, were after Clement. He, I heard, had been also marooned by a rebellious crew, and put ashore on a desert islet, to perish with want--I believed he had so perished." "And what assures you that he did not?" said Ulla; "or how comes this Cleveland to be identified with Vaughan?" "To change a name is common with such adventurers," answered Mertoun, "and Clement had apparently found that of Vaughan had become too notorious--and this change, in his case, prevented me from hearing any tidings of him. It was then that remorse seized me, and that, detesting all nature, but especially the sex to which Louisa belonged, I resolved to do penance in the wild islands of Zetland for the rest of my life. To subject myself to fasts and to the scourge, was the advice of the holy Catholic priests, whom I consulted. But I devised a nobler penance--I determined to bring with me the unhappy boy Mordaunt, and to keep always before me the living memorial of my misery and my guilt. I have done so, and I have thought over both, till reason has often trembled on her throne. And now, to drive me to utter madness, my Clement--my own, my undoubted son, revives from the dead to be consigned to an infamous death, by the machinations of his own mother!" "Away, away!" said Norna, with a laugh, when she had heard the story to an end, "this is a legend framed by the old corsair, to interest my aid in favour of a guilty comrade. How could I mistake Mordaunt for my son, their ages being so different?" "The dark complexion and manly stature may have done much," said Basil Mertoun; "strong imagination must have done the rest." "But, give me proofs--give me proofs that this Cleveland is my son, and, believe me, this sun shall sooner sink in the east, than they shall have power to harm a hair of his head." "These papers, these journals," said Mertoun, offering the pocket-book. "I cannot read them," she said, after an effort, "my brain is dizzy." "Clement has also tokens which you may remember, but they must have become the booty of his captors. He had a silver box with a Runic inscription, with which in far other days you presented me--a golden chaplet." "A box!" said Norna, hastily; "Cleveland gave me one but a day since--I have never looked at it till now." Eagerly she pulled it out--eagerly examined the legend around the lid, and as eagerly exclaimed--"They may now indeed call me Reimkennar, for by this rhyme I know myself murderess of my son, as well as of my father!" The conviction of the strong delusion under which she had laboured, was so overwhelming, that she sunk down at the foot of one of the pillars--Mertoun shouted for help, though in despair of receiving any; the sexton, however, entered, and, hopeless of all assistance from Norna, the distracted father rushed out, to learn, if possible, the fate of his son. CHAPTER XXII. Go, some of you cry a reprieve! _Beggar's Opera._ Captain Weatherport had, before this time, reached Kirkwall in person, and was received with great joy and thankfulness by the Magistrates, who had assembled in council for the purpose. The Provost, in particular, expressed himself delighted with the providential arrival of the Halcyon, at the very conjuncture when the Pirate could not escape her. The Captain looked a little surprised, and said--"For that, sir, you may thank the information you yourself supplied." "That I supplied?" said the Provost, somewhat astonished. "Yes, sir," answered Captain Weatherport, "I understand you to be George Torfe, Chief Magistrate of Kirkwall, who subscribes this letter." The astonished Provost took the letter addressed to Captain Weatherport of the Halcyon, stating the arrival, force, &c., of the pirates' vessel; but adding, that they had heard of the Halcyon being on the coast, and that they were on their guard and ready to baffle her, by going among the shoals, and through the islands, and holms, where the frigate could not easily follow; and at the worst, they were desperate enough to propose running the sloop ashore and blowing her up, by which much booty and treasure would be lost to the captors. The letter, therefore, suggested, that the Halcyon should cruise betwixt Duncansbay Head and Cape Wrath, for two or three days, to relieve the pirates of the alarm her neighbourhood occasioned, and lull them into security, the more especially as the letter-writer knew it to be their intention, if the frigate left the coast, to go into Stromness Bay, and there put their guns ashore for some necessary repairs, or even for careening their vessel, if they could find means. The letter concluded by assuring Captain Weatherport, that, if he could bring his frigate into Stromness Bay on the morning of the 24th of August, he would have a good bargain of the pirates--if sooner, he was not unlikely to miss them. "This letter is not of my writing or subscribing, Captain Weatherport," said the Provost; "nor would I have ventured to advise any delay in your coming hither." The Captain was surprised in his turn. "All I know is, that it reached me when I was in the bay of Thurso, and that I gave the boat's crew that brought it five dollars for crossing the Pentland Frith in very rough weather. They had a dumb dwarf as cockswain, the ugliest urchin my eyes ever opened upon. I give you much credit for the accuracy of your intelligence, Mr. Provost." "It is lucky as it is," said the Provost; "yet I question whether the writer of this letter would not rather that you had found the nest cold and the bird flown." So saying, he handed the letter to Magnus Troil, who returned it with a smile, but without any observation, aware, doubtless, with the sagacious reader, that Norna had her own reasons for calculating with accuracy on the date of the Halcyon's arrival. Without puzzling himself farther concerning a circumstance which seemed inexplicable, the Captain requested that the examinations might proceed; and Cleveland and Altamont, as he chose to be called, were brought up the first of the pirate crew, on the charge of having acted as Captain and Lieutenant. They had just commenced the examination, when, after some expostulation with the officers who kept the door, Basil Mertoun burst into the apartment and exclaimed, "Take the old victim for the young one!--I am Basil Vaughan, too well known on the windward station--take my life, and spare my son's!" All were astonished, and none more than Magnus Troil, who hastily explained to the Magistrates and Captain Weatherport, that this gentleman had been living peaceably and honestly on the Mainland of Zetland for many years. "In that case," said the Captain, "I wash my hands of the poor man, for he is safe, under two proclamations of mercy; and, by my soul, when I see them, the father and his offspring, hanging on each other's neck, I wish I could say as much for the son." "But how is it--how can it be?" said the Provost; "we always called the old man Mertoun, and the young, Cleveland, and now it seems they are both named Vaughan." "Vaughan," answered Magnus, "is a name which I have some reason to remember; and, from what I have lately heard from my cousin Norna, that old man has a right to bear it." "And, I trust, the young man also," said the Captain, who had been looking over a memorandum. "Listen to me a moment," added he, addressing the younger Vaughan, whom we have hitherto called Cleveland. "Hark you, sir, your name is said to be Clement Vaughan--are you the same, who, then a mere boy, commanded a party of rovers, who, about eight or nine years ago, pillaged a Spanish village called Quempoa, on the Spanish Main, with the purpose of seizing some treasure?" "It will avail me nothing to deny it," answered the prisoner. "No," said Captain Weatherport, "but it may do you service to admit it.--Well, the muleteers escaped with the treasure, while you were engaged in protecting, at the hazard of your own life, the honour of two Spanish ladies against the brutality of your followers. Do you remember any thing of this?" "I am sure _I_ do," said Jack Bunce; "for our Captain here was marooned for his gallantry, and I narrowly escaped flogging and pickling for having taken his part." "When these points are established," said Captain Weatherport, "Vaughan's life is safe--the women he saved were persons of quality, daughters to the governor of the province, and application was long since made, by the grateful Spaniard, to our government, for favour to be shown to their preserver. I had special orders about Clement Vaughan, when I had a commission for cruizing upon the pirates, in the West Indies, six or seven years since. But Vaughan was gone then as a name amongst them; and I heard enough of Cleveland in his room. However, Captain, be you Cleveland or Vaughan, I think that, as the Quempoa hero, I can assure you a free pardon when you arrive in London." Cleveland bowed, and the blood mounted to his face. Mertoun fell on his knees, and exhausted himself in thanksgiving to Heaven. They were removed, amidst the sympathizing sobs of the spectators. "And now, good Master Lieutenant, what have you got to say for yourself?" said Captain Weatherport to the ci-devant Roscius. "Why, little or nothing, please your honour; only that I wish your honour could find my name in that book of mercy you have in your hand; for I stood by Captain Clement Vaughan in that Quempoa business." "You call yourself Frederick Altamont?" said Captain Weatherport. "I can see no such name here; one John Bounce, or Bunce, the lady put on her tablets." "Why, that is me--that is I myself, Captain--I can prove it; and I am determined, though the sound be something plebeian, rather to live Jack Bunce, than to hang as Frederick Altamont." "In that case," said the Captain, "I can give you some hopes as John Bunce." "Thank your noble worship!" shouted Bunce; then changing his tone, he said, "Ah, since an alias has such virtue, poor Dick Fletcher might have come off as Timothy Tugmutton; but howsomdever, d'ye see, to use his own phrase"---- "Away with the Lieutenant," said the Captain, "and bring forward Goffe and the other fellows; there will be ropes reeved for some of them, I think." And this prediction promised to be amply fulfilled, so strong was the proof which was brought against them. The Halcyon was accordingly ordered round to carry the whole prisoners to London, for which she set sail in the course of two days. During the time that the unfortunate Cleveland remained at Kirkwall, he was treated with civility by the Captain of the Halcyon; and the kindness of his old acquaintance, Magnus Troil, who knew in secret how closely he was allied to his blood, pressed on him accommodations of every kind, more than he could be prevailed on to accept. Norna, whose interest in the unhappy prisoner was still more deep, was at this time unable to express it. The sexton had found her lying on the pavement in a swoon, and when she recovered, her mind for the time had totally lost its equipoise, and it became necessary to place her under the restraint of watchful attendants. Of the sisters of Burgh-Westra, Cleveland only heard that they remained ill, in consequence of the fright to which they had been subjected, until the evening before the Halcyon sailed, when he received, by a private conveyance, the following billet: --"Farewell, Cleveland--we part for ever, and it is right that we should--Be virtuous and be happy. The delusions which a solitary education and limited acquaintance with the modern world had spread around me, are gone and dissipated for ever. But in you, I am sure, I have been thus far free from error--that you are one to whom good is naturally more attractive than evil, and whom only necessity, example, and habit, have forced into your late course of life. Think of me as one who no longer exists, unless you should become as much the object of general praise, as now of general reproach; and then think of me as one who will rejoice in your reviving fame, though she must never see you more!"-- The note was signed M. T.; and Cleveland, with a deep emotion, which he testified even by tears, read it an hundred times over, and then clasped it to his bosom. Mordaunt Mertoun heard by letter from his father, but in a very different style. Basil bade him farewell for ever, and acquitted him henceforward of the duties of a son, as one on whom he, notwithstanding the exertions of many years, had found himself unable to bestow the affections of a parent. The letter informed him of a recess in the old house of Jarlshof, in which the writer had deposited a considerable quantity of specie and of treasure, which he desired Mordaunt to use as his own. "You need not fear," the letter bore, "either that you lay yourself under obligation to me, or that you are sharing the spoils of piracy. What is now given over to you, is almost entirely the property of your deceased mother, Louisa Gonzago, and is yours by every right. Let us forgive each other," was the conclusion, "as they who must meet no more."--And they never met more; for the elder Mertoun, against whom no charge was ever preferred, disappeared after the fate of Cleveland was determined, and was generally believed to have retired into a foreign convent. The fate of Cleveland will be most briefly expressed in a letter which Minna received within two months after the Halcyon left Kirkwall. The family were then assembled at Burgh-Westra, and Mordaunt was a member of it for the time, the good Udaller thinking he could never sufficiently repay the activity which he had shown in the defence of his daughters. Norna, then beginning to recover from her temporary alienation of mind, was a guest in the family, and Minna, who was sedulous in her attention upon this unfortunate victim of mental delusion, was seated with her, watching each symptom of returning reason, when the letter we allude to was placed in her hands. "Minna," it said--"dearest Minna!--farewell, and for ever! Believe me, I never meant you wrong--never. From the moment I came to know you, I resolved to detach myself from my hateful comrades, and had framed a thousand schemes, which have proved as vain as they deserved to be--for why, or how, should the fate of her that is so lovely, pure, and innocent, be involved with that of one so guilty?--Of these dreams I will speak no more. The stern reality of my situation is much milder than I either expected or deserved; and the little good I did has outweighed, in the minds of honourable and merciful judges, much that was evil and criminal. I have not only been exempted from the ignominious death to which several of my compeers are sentenced; but Captain Weatherport, about once more to sail for the Spanish Main, under the apprehension of an immediate war with that country, has generously solicited and obtained permission to employ me, and two or three more of my less guilty associates, in the same service--a measure recommended to himself by his own generous compassion, and to others by our knowledge of the coast, and of local circumstances, which, by whatever means acquired, we now hope to use for the service of our country. Minna, you will hear my name pronounced with honour, or you will never hear it again. If virtue can give happiness, I need not wish it to you, for it is yours already.--Farewell, Minna." Minna wept so bitterly over this letter, that it attracted the attention of the convalescent Norna. She snatched it from the hand of her kinswoman, and read it over at first with the confused air of one to whom it conveyed no intelligence--then with a dawn of recollection--then with a burst of mingled joy and grief, in which she dropped it from her hand. Minna snatched it up, and retired with her treasure to her own apartment. From that time Norna appeared to assume a different character. Her dress was changed to one of a more simple and less imposing appearance. Her dwarf was dismissed, with ample provision for his future comfort. She showed no desire of resuming her erratic life; and directed her observatory, as it might be called, on Fitful-head, to be dismantled. She refused the name of Norna, and would only be addressed by her real appellation of Ulla Troil. But the most important change remained behind. Formerly, from the dreadful dictates of spiritual despair, arising out of the circumstances of her father's death, she seemed to have considered herself as an outcast from divine grace; besides, that, enveloped in the vain occult sciences which she pretended to practise, her study, like that of Chaucer's physician, had been "but little in the Bible." Now, the sacred volume was seldom laid aside; and, to the poor ignorant people who came as formerly to invoke her power over the elements, she only replied--"_The winds are in the hollow of His hand._"--Her conversion was not, perhaps, altogether rational; for this, the state of a mind disordered by such a complication of horrid incidents, probably prevented. But it seemed to be sincere, and was certainly useful. She appeared deeply to repent of her former presumptuous attempts to interfere with the course of human events, superintended as they are by far higher powers, and expressed bitter compunction when such her former pretensions were in any manner recalled to her memory. She still showed a partiality to Mordaunt, though, perhaps, arising chiefly from habit; nor was it easy to know how much or how little she remembered of the complicated events in which she had been connected. When she died, which was about four years after the events we have commemorated, it was found that, at the special and earnest request of Minna Troil, she had conveyed her very considerable property to Brenda. A clause in her will specially directed, that all the books, implements of her laboratory, and other things connected with her former studies, should be committed to the flames. About two years before Norna's death, Brenda was wedded to Mordaunt Mertoun. It was some time before old Magnus Troil, with all his affection for his daughter, and all his partiality for Mordaunt, was able frankly to reconcile himself to this match. But Mordaunt's accomplishments were peculiarly to the Udaller's taste, and the old man felt the impossibility of supplying his place in his family so absolutely, that at length his Norse blood gave way to the natural feeling of the heart, and he comforted his pride while he looked around him, and saw what he considered as the encroachments of the Scottish gentry upon THE COUNTRY, (so Zetland is fondly termed by its inhabitants,) that as well "his daughter married the son of an English pirate, as of a Scottish thief," in scornful allusion to the Highland and Border families, to whom Zetland owes many respectable landholders; but whose ancestors were generally esteemed more renowned for ancient family and high courage, than for accurately regarding the trifling distinctions of _meum_ and _tuum_. The jovial old man lived to the extremity of human life, with the happy prospect of a numerous succession in the family of his younger daughter; and having his board cheered alternately by the minstrelsy of Claud Halcro, and enlightened by the lucubrations of Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley, who, laying aside his high pretensions, was, when he became better acquainted with the manners of the islanders, and remembered the various misadventures which had attended his premature attempts at reformation, an honest and useful representative of his principal, and never so happy as when he could escape from the spare commons of his sister Barbara, to the genial table of the Udaller. Barbara's temper also was much softened by the unexpected restoration of the horn of silver coins, (the property of Norna,) which she had concealed in the mansion of old Stourburgh, for achieving some of her mysterious plans, but which she now restored to those by whom it had been accidentally discovered, with an intimation, however, that it would again disappear unless a reasonable portion was expended on the sustenance of the family, a precaution to which Tronda Dronsdaughter (probably an agent of Norna's) owed her escape from a slow and wasting death by inanition. Mordaunt and Brenda were as happy as our mortal condition permits us to be. They admired and loved each other--enjoyed easy circumstances--had duties to discharge which they did not neglect; and, clear in conscience as light of heart, laughed, sung, danced, daffed the world aside, and bid it pass. But Minna--the high-minded and imaginative Minna--she, gifted with such depth of feeling and enthusiasm, yet doomed to see both blighted in early youth, because, with the inexperience of a disposition equally romantic and ignorant, she had built the fabric of her happiness on a quicksand instead of a rock,--was she, could she be happy? Reader, she _was_ happy, for, whatever may be alleged to the contrary by the sceptic and the scorner, to each duty performed there is assigned a degree of mental peace and high consciousness of honourable exertion, corresponding to the difficulty of the task accomplished. That rest of the body which succeeds to hard and industrious toil, is not to be compared to the repose which the spirit enjoys under similar circumstances. Her resignation, however, and the constant attention which she paid to her father, her sister, the afflicted Norna, and to all who had claims on her, were neither Minna's sole nor her most precious source of comfort. Like Norna, but under a more regulated judgment, she learned to exchange the visions of wild enthusiasm which had exerted and misled her imagination, for a truer and purer connexion with the world beyond us, than could be learned from the sagas of heathen bards, or the visions of later rhymers. To this she owed the support by which she was enabled, after various accounts of the honourable and gallant conduct of Cleveland, to read with resignation, and even with a sense of comfort, mingled with sorrow, that he had at length fallen, leading the way in a gallant and honourable enterprise, which was successfully accomplished by those companions, to whom his determined bravery had opened the road. Bunce, his fantastic follower in good, as formerly in evil, transmitted an account to Minna of this melancholy event, in terms which showed, that though his head was weak, his heart had not been utterly corrupted by the lawless life which he had for some time led, or at least that it had been amended by the change; and that he himself had gained credit and promotion in the same action, seemed to be of little consequence to him, compared with the loss of his old captain and comrade.[41] Minna read the intelligence, and thanked Heaven, even while the eyes which she lifted up were streaming with tears, that the death of Cleveland had been in the bed of honour; nay, she even had the courage to add her gratitude, that he had been snatched from a situation of temptation ere circumstances had overcome his new-born virtue; and so strongly did this reflection operate, that her life, after the immediate pain of this event had passed away, seemed not only as resigned, but even more cheerful than before. Her thoughts, however, were detached from the world, and only visited it, with an interest like that which guardian spirits take for their charge, in behalf of those friends with whom she lived in love, or of the poor whom she could serve and comfort. Thus passed her life, enjoying from all who approached her, an affection enhanced by reverence; insomuch, that when her friends sorrowed for her death, which arrived at a late period of her existence, they were comforted by the fond reflection, that the humanity which she then laid down, was the only circumstance which had placed her, in the words of Scripture, "a little lower than the angels!" FOOTNOTES: [41] We have been able to learn nothing with certainty of Bunce's fate; but our friend, Dr Dryasdust, believes he may be identified with an old gentleman, who, in the beginning of the reign of George I., attended the Rose Coffee-house regularly, went to the theatre every night, told mercilessly long stories about the Spanish Main, controlled reckonings, bullied waiters, and was generally known by the name of Captain Bounce. AUTHOR'S NOTES. Note I., p. 17.--FORTUNE-TELLING RHYMES. The author has in Chapter I. supposed that a very ancient northern custom, used by those who were accounted soothsaying women, might have survived, though in jest rather than earnest, among the Zetlanders, their descendants. The following original account of such a scene will show the ancient importance and consequence of such a prophetic character as was assumed by Norna:-- "There lived in the same territory (Greenland) a woman named Thorbiorga, who was a prophetess, and called the little Vola, (or fatal sister,) the only one of nine sisters who survived. Thorbiorga during the winter used to frequent the festivities of the season, invited by those who were desirous of learning their own fortune, and the future events which impended. Torquil being a man of consequence in the country, it fell to his lot to enquire how long the dearth was to endure with which the country was then afflicted; he therefore invited the prophetess to his house, having made liberal preparation, as was the custom, for receiving a guest of such consequence. The seat of the soothsayer was placed in an eminent situation, and covered with pillows filled with the softest eider down. In the evening she arrived, together with a person who had been sent to meet her, and show her the way to Torquil's habitation. She was attired as follows: She had a sky-blue tunick, having the front ornamented with gems from the top to the bottom, and wore around her throat a necklace of glass beads.[42] Her head-gear was of black lambskin, the lining being the fur of a white wild-cat. She leant on a staff, having a ball at the top.[43] The staff was ornamented with brass, and the ball or globe with gems or pebbles. She wore a Hunland (or Hungarian) girdle, to which was attached a large pouch, in which she kept her magical implements. Her shoes were of sealskin, dressed with the hair outside, and secured by long and thick straps, fastened by brazen clasps. She wore gloves of the wild-cat's skin, with the fur inmost. As this venerable person entered the hall, all saluted her with due respect; but she only returned the compliments of such as were agreeable to her. Torquil conducted her with reverence to the seat prepared for her, and requested she would purify the apartment and company assembled, by casting her eyes over them. She was by no means sparing of her words. The table being at length covered, such viands were placed before Thorbiorga as suited her character of a soothsayer. These were, a preparation of goat's milk, and a mess composed of the hearts of various animals; the prophetess made use of a brazen spoon, and a pointless knife, the handle of which was composed of a whale's tooth, and ornamented with two rings of brass. The table being removed, Torquil addressed Thorbiorga, requesting her opinion of his house and guests, at the same time intimating the subjects on which he and the company were desirous to consult her. "Thorbiorga replied, it was impossible for her to answer their enquiries until she had slept a night under his roof. The next morning, therefore, the magical apparatus necessary for her purpose was prepared, and she then enquired, as a necessary part of the ceremony, whether there was any female present who could sing a magical song called '_Vardlokur_.' When no songstress such as she desired could be found, Gudrida, the daughter of Torquil, replied, 'I am no sorceress or soothsayer; but my nurse, Haldisa, taught me, when in Iceland, a song called _Vardlokur_.'--'Then thou knowest more than I was aware of,' said Torquil. 'But as I am a Christian,' continued Gudrida, 'I consider these rites as matters which it is unlawful to promote, and the song itself as unlawful.'--'Nevertheless,' answered the soothsayer, 'thou mayst help us in this matter without any harm to thy religion, since the task will remain with Torquil to provide every thing necessary for the present purpose.' Torquil also earnestly entreated Gudrida, till she consented to grant his request. The females then surrounded Thorbiorga, who took her place on a sort of elevated stage; Gudrida then sung the magic song, with a voice so sweet and tuneful, as to excel any thing that had been heard by any present. The soothsayer, delighted with the melody, returned thanks to the singer, and then said, 'Much I have now learned of dearth and disease approaching the country, and many things are now clear to me which before were hidden as well from me as others. Our present dearth of substance shall not long endure for the present, and plenty will in the spring succeed to scarcity. The contagious diseases also, with which the country has been for some time afflicted, will in a short time take their departure. To thee, Gudrida, I can, in recompense for thy assistance on this occasion, announce a fortune of higher import than any one could have conjectured. You shall be married to a man of name here in Greenland; but you shall not long enjoy that union, for your fate recalls you to Iceland, where you shall become the mother of a numerous and honourable family, which shall be enlightened by a luminous ray of good fortune. So, my daughter, wishing thee health, I bid thee farewell.' The prophetess, having afterwards given answers to all queries which were put to her, either by Torquil or his guests, departed to show her skill at another festival, to which she had been invited for that purpose. But all which she had presaged, either concerning the public or individuals, came truly to pass." The above narrative is taken from the Saga of Erick Randa, as quoted by the learned Bartholine in his curious work. He mentions similar instances, particularly of one Heida, celebrated for her predictions, who attended festivals for the purpose, as a modern Scotsman might say, of _spaeing_ fortunes, with a gallant _tail_, or retinue, of thirty male and fifteen female attendants.--See _De Causis Contemptæ a Danis adhuc gentilibus Mortis, lib. III., cap. 4_. Note II., p. 32.--PROMISE OF ODIN. Although the Father of Scandinavian mythology has been as a deity long forgotten in the archipelago, which was once a very small part of his realm, yet even at this day his name continues to be occasionally attested as security for a promise. It is curious to observe, that the rites with which such attestations are still made in Orkney, correspond to those of the ancient Northmen. It appears from several authorities, that in the Norse ritual, when an oath was imposed, he by whom it was pledged, passed his hand, while pronouncing it, through a massive ring of silver kept for that purpose.[44] In like manner, two persons, generally lovers, desirous to take the promise of Odin, which they considered as peculiarly binding, joined hands through a circular hole in a sacrificial stone, which lies in the Orcadian Stonehenge, called the Circle of Stennis, of which we shall speak more hereafter. The ceremony is now confined to the troth-plighting of the lower classes, but at an earlier period may be supposed to have influenced a character like Minna in the higher ranks. Note III., p. 101.--THE PICTISH BURGH. The Pictish Burgh, a fort which Nora is supposed to have converted into her dwelling-house, has been fully described in the Notes upon Ivanhoe, vol. xvii. p. 352, of this edition. An account of the celebrated Castle of Mousa is there given, to afford an opportunity of comparing it with the Saxon Castle of Coningsburgh. It should, however, have been mentioned, that the Castle of Mousa underwent considerable repairs at a comparatively recent period. Accordingly, Torfæus assures us, that even this ancient pigeon-house, composed of dry stones, was fortification enough, not indeed to hold out a ten years' siege, like Troy in similar circumstances, but to wear out the patience of the besiegers. Erland, the son of Harold the Fair-spoken, had carried off a beautiful woman, the mother of a Norwegian earl, also called Harold, and sheltered himself with his fair prize in the Castle of Mousa. Earl Harold followed with an army, and, finding the place too strong for assault, endeavoured to reduce it by famine; but such was the length of the siege, that the offended Earl found it necessary to listen to a treaty of accommodation, and agreed that his mother's honour should be restored by marriage. This transaction took place in the beginning of the thirteenth century, in the reign of William the Lion of Scotland.[45] It is probable that the improvements adopted by Erland on this occasion, were those which finished the parapet of the castle, by making it project outwards, so that the tower of Mousa rather resembles the figure of a dice-box, whereas others of the same kind have the form of a truncated cone. It is easy to see how the projection of the highest parapet would render the defence more easy and effectual. Note IV., p. 143.--ANTIQUE COINS FOUND IN ZETLAND. While these sheets were passing through the press, I received a letter from an honourable and learned friend, containing the following passage, relating to a discovery in Zetland:--"Within a few weeks, the workmen taking up the foundation of an old wall, came on a hearth-stone, under which they found a horn, surrounded with massive silver rings, like bracelets, and filled with coins of the Heptarchy, in perfect preservation. The place of finding is within a very short distance of the [supposed] residence of Norna of the Fitful-head."--Thus one of the very improbable fictions of the tale is verified by a singular coincidence. Note V., p. 197.--CHARACTER OF NORNA. The character of Norna is meant to be an instance of that singular kind of insanity, during which the patient, while she or he retains much subtlety and address for the power of imposing upon others, is still more ingenious in endeavouring to impose upon themselves. Indeed, maniacs of this kind may be often observed to possess a sort of double character, in one of which they are the being whom their distempered imagination shapes out, and in the other, their own natural self, as seen to exist by other people. This species of double consciousness makes wild work with the patient's imagination, and, judiciously used, is perhaps a frequent means of restoring sanity of intellect. Exterior circumstances striking the senses, often have a powerful effect in undermining or battering the airy castles which the disorder has excited. A late medical gentleman, my particular friend, told me the case of a lunatic patient confined in the Edinburgh Infirmary. He was so far happy that his mental alienation was of a gay and pleasant character, giving a kind of joyous explanation to all that came in contact with him. He considered the large house, numerous servants, &c., of the hospital, as all matters of state and consequence belonging to his own personal establishment, and had no doubt of his own wealth and grandeur. One thing alone puzzled this man of wealth. Although he was provided with a first-rate cook and proper assistants, although his table was regularly supplied with every delicacy of the season, yet he confessed to my friend, that by some uncommon depravity of the palate, every thing which he ate _tasted of porridge_. This peculiarity, of course, arose from the poor man being fed upon nothing else, and because his stomach was not so easily deceived as his other senses. Note VI., p. 199.--BIRDS OF PREY. So favourable a retreat does the island of Hoy afford for birds of prey, that instances of their ravages, which seldom occur in other parts of the country, are not unusual there. An individual was living in Orkney not long since, whom, while a child in its swaddling clothes, an eagle actually transported to its nest in the hill of Hoy. Happily the eyry being known, and the bird instantly pursued, the child was found uninjured, playing with the young eagles. A story of a more ludicrous transportation was told me by the reverend clergyman who is minister of the island. Hearing one day a strange grunting, he suspected his servants had permitted a sow and pigs, which were tenants of his farm-yard, to get among his barley crop. Having in vain looked for the transgressors upon solid earth, he at length cast his eyes upward, when he discovered one of the litter in the talons of a large eagle, which was soaring away with the unfortunate pig (squeaking all the while with terror) towards her nest in the crest of Hoy. Note VII., p. 280.--THE STANDING STONES OF STENNIS. The Standing Stones of Stennis, as by a little pleonasm this remarkable monument is termed, furnishes an irresistible refutation of the opinion of such antiquaries as hold that the circles usually called Druidical, were peculiar to that race of priests. There is every reason to believe, that the custom was as prevalent in Scandinavia as in Gaul or Britain, and as common to the mythology of Odin as to Druidical superstition. There is even reason to think, that the Druids never occupied any part of the Orkneys, and tradition, as well as history, ascribes the Stones of Stennis to the Scandinavians. Two large sheets of water, communicating with the sea, are connected by a causeway, with openings permitting the tide to rise and recede, which is called the Bridge of Broisgar. Upon the eastern tongue of land appear the Standing Stones, arranged in the form of a half circle, or rather a horse-shoe, the height of the pillars being fifteen feet and upwards. Within this circle lies a stone, probably sacrificial. One of the pillars, a little to the westward, is perforated with a circular hole, through which loving couples are wont to join hands when they take the _Promise of Odin_, as has been repeatedly mentioned in the text. The enclosure is surrounded by barrows, and on the opposite isthmus, advancing towards the Bridge of Broisgar, there is another monument, of Standing Stones, which, in this case, is completely circular. They are less in size than those on the eastern side of the lake, their height running only from ten or twelve to fourteen feet. This western circle is surrounded by a deep trench drawn on the outside of the pillars; and I remarked four tumuli, or mounds of earth, regularly disposed around it. Stonehenge excels this Orcadian monument; but that of Stennis is, I conceive, the only one in Britain which can be said to approach it in consequence. All the northern nations marked by those huge enclosures the places of popular meeting, either for religious worship or the transaction of public business of a temporal nature. The _Northern Popular Antiquities_ contain, in an abstract of the Eyrbiggia Saga, a particular account of the manner in which the Helga Fels, or Holy Rock, was set apart by the Pontiff Thorolf for solemn occasions. I need only add, that, different from the monument on Salisbury Plain, the stones which were used in the Orcadian circle seem to have been raised from a quarry upon the spot, of which the marks are visible. FOOTNOTES: [42] We may suppose the beads to have been of the potent adderstone, to which so many virtues were ascribed. [43] Like those anciently borne by porters at the gates of distinguished persons, as a badge of office. [44] See the Eyrbiggia Saga. [45] See Torfæi Orcadus, p. 131. EDITOR'S NOTES. (_a_) p. 17. Norna's soothsaying. The passage quoted by Scott from the Saga of Eric the Red may be read in its context in "Vinland the Good," edited by Mr. Reeves, and published by the Clarendon Press. Eric was the discoverer of Greenland, and father of Leif the Lucky, who found Vinland (New England, or Nova Scotia?) about the year 1002. Leif has a statue in Boston, Massachusetts. (_b_) p. 35. Islands "supposed to be haunted." In De Quincey's autobiographical essay his sailor brother, Pink, describes the terrors of those isles. One of them, the noise of a Midnight Axe, is also found in Ceylon, in Mexico, and elsewhere. The Editor may be permitted to refer to the legends collected in his "Custom and Myth." (_c_) p. 47. Cleveland's song. Lockhart says that Scott, in his later years, heard this song sung, and said, "'Capital words! Whose are they? Byron's, I suppose, but I don't remember them.' He was astonished when I told him that they were his own in 'The Pirate.' He seemed pleased at the moment, but said next minute, 'You have distressed me--if memory goes all is up with me, for that was always my strong point.'" This was in 1828. Mrs. Arkwright was the daughter of Stephen Kemble. She set "Hohenlinden." (_d_) p. 86. "Auld Robin Gray." In the Abbotsford MSS. is a long correspondence between Lady Ann Lindsay and Scott. She had known him as a child. There was a project of editing all her poems, but perhaps her own modesty, perhaps the quality of the work, caused this to be dropped, and Scott only edited the ballad, with a letter of the lady's. This small quarto sells for some £5 when it comes into the market. It has a frontispiece by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, and is apparently the only book of Scott's which is valued as a rarity by bibliomaniacs. (_e_) p. 255. "John was a Jacobite." In the library of a country house in the south of England is a copy of Dryden's Miscellany Poems, with a laudatory autograph envoy to Judge Jeffreys, a sufficiently thoroughgoing King's man. ANDREW LANG. _August 1893._ GLOSSARY. A', all. Aboon, above. Ae, one. Ain, own. Aits, oats. Anes, once. A'thegither, altogether. Aught, owned. Auld, old. Awa, away. Bailie, a magistrate. Baittle, denoting that sort of pasture where the grass is short, close, and rich. Bang, a blow. Bear, a kind of barley. Bee--"to have a bee in one's bonnet," to be harebrained. Bern, bairn, a child. Bicker, a wooden dish. Bide, to await, to endure. Biggin, a building. Bilboes, irons. Bismar, a small steelyard. Bland, a drink made from butter-milk. Blithe, glad. Blude, blood. Bodle, a small coin equal to one sixth of a penny sterling. Bole, a small aperture. Bonny-die, a toy, a trinket. Boobie, a dunce. Bowie, a wooden dish for milk. Brae, a hill. Braw, fine, pretty. Buckie, a whilk. Bumming, making a humming noise. Ca', to call. Canny, good, worthy; safe. Cannily, gently. Capa, a Spanish mantle. Caper, a Dutch privateer of the seventeenth century. Carle, a churl; also, a farm servant. Carline, a witch. Cart-avers, cart-horses. Chapman, a small merchant or pedlar. "Clashes and clavers," scandal and nonsense. Clink, to drop. Cowp, to upset. Craig, the neck; also, a rock. Cummer, a gossip. Daft, crazy. "Deaf nuts," nuts whose kernels are decayed. Deil, the devil. Dibble, to plant. Dinna, do not. "Dinna, downa, bide," cannot bear. Divot, thin turf used for roofing cottages. Douce, sedate, modest. Dowie, dark, melancholy. "Dowse the glim," put out the light. Dree, to endure. Duds, clothes. Dulse, a species of sea-weed. Dune, done. Dung, knocked. Dunt, to knock. Een, eyes. Eneugh, enough. Eviting, avoiding. Fash, fashery, trouble. Fear'd, afraid. Feck, the greatest part. Ferly, wonderful. "Fey folk," fated or unfortunate folk. "Floatsome and jetsome," articles floated or cast away on the sea. Forby, besides. Forgie, to forgive. Fowd, the chief judge or magistrate. Frae, from. Fule, a fool. "Funking and flinging," the act of dancing. Gae, go. Galdragon, a sorceress. Gane, gone. Gate, way, direction. Gar, to oblige, to force. Gear, property. Ghaist, a ghost. Gob-box, the mouth. Gowd, gold. Gowk, a fool. Gude, God, good. Gue, a two-stringed violin. Guide, to take care of. Haaf, deep-sea fishing. Hae, have. Haena, have not. Haill, whole. Hank, to fasten. Hellicat, lightheaded, extravagant, wicked. Hialtland, the old name for Shetland. Hirple, to halt, to limp. Howf, a haunt, a haven. Hurley-house, a term applied to a large house that is so much in disrepair as to be nearly in a ruinous state. "Infang and outfang thief," the right of trying thieves. Jagger, a pedlar. Jarto, my dear. Jokul, yes, sir. Joul, Yule. Kailyard, a cabbage garden. Kempies, Norse champions. Ken, to know. Kend, well-known. Kenna, know not. Kist, a chest. Kittle, difficult, ticklish. Lampits, limpets. Landlouper, a vagabond. Lave, the rest. Leddy, a lady. Lispund, the fifteenth part of a barrel, a weight in Orkney and Shetland. List, to wish, to choose. Lowe, a flame. Lug, the ear. Main, to moan. Mair, more. Malapert, impertinent. Mallard, the wild-duck. Marooned, abandoned on a desert island. Masking-fat, a mashing vat. Maun, must. Mearns, Kincardineshire. Meed, reward. Menseful, modest, discreet. Merk, an ancient Scottish silver coin = 13-1/3_d._ Mickle, much, big. Mind, to remember. Mony, many. Muckle, much, big. Na, nae, no, not. Neist, next. Nixie, a water-fairy. Ony, any. Orra, odd. Ower, over. Owerlay, a cravat. Peery, sharp-looking, disposed to examine narrowly. Pixie, a fairy. Pleugh, a plough. Puir, poor. Pye-holes, eye-holes. Ranzelman, a constable. Rape, a rope. Reimkennar, one who knows mystic rhyme. "Roose the ford," judge of the ford. Sae, so. Sain, to bless. Sair, sore. Saunt, a saint. Scald, a bard or minstrel. Scat, a land-tax paid to the Crown. "Sclate stane," slate stone. Scowries, young sea-gulls. Sealgh, sealchie, a seal. Shogh! (Gaelic), there! Sic, siccan, such. Siller, money. Sillocks, the fry of the coal-fish. Skelping, galloping. Skeoe, a stone hut for drying fish. Skeps, straw hives. Skerry, a flat insulated rock. Skirl, to scream. Slade, slid. Sombrero, a large straw hat worn by Spaniards. Sorner, one who lives upon his friends. Spae-women, fortune-tellers. Spaed, foretold. Speer, to ask, to inquire. Speerings, inquiries. Spring, a dance tune. Stack, an insulated precipitous rock. Staig, a young horse. Suld, should. Swatter, to swim quickly and awkwardly. Swap, to exchange. Swelchies, whirlpools. Syne, since, ago. Taen, taken. "Taits of woo'," locks of wool. Tauld, told. Thae, these, those. Thairm, catgut. Tint, lost. Trow or Drow, a spirit or elf believed in by the Norse. Ugsome, frightful. Umquhile, the late. Unco, very, strange, great, particularly. "Unco wark," a great ado. Vifda, beef dried without salt. Vivers, victuals. Voe, an inlet of the sea. Wa', a wall. Wad, would. Wadmaal, homespun woollen cloth. Waft, the woof in a web. Warlock, a wizard. Wasna, was not. Wat, wet. Wattle, an assessment for the salary of the magistrate. Wawl, to look wildly. Waws, waves. Weal, well. Wearifu', causing pain or trouble. Weird, fate, destiny. Wha, who. "What for," why. Whilk, which. Whomled, turned over. Wi', with. Wittols, cuckolds. "Win by," to escape. Wot, to know. Wrang, wrong. Yarfa, yarpha, peat full of fibres and roots; land. Yelloched, screeched or yelled.