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.