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.