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.