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.