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.