When I went ashore at Stromness I found that Captain Flett, who had
landed in Orkney three or four days before me, had not yet come
over from Kirkwall; so next morning I paid off my three Fair
Islanders, who went over by land to Kirkwall, intending to return
to their home by the sloop that had brought my skipper and
shipmates.
I saw the schooner safely moored in the bay, with her cabin door
locked and her hatchway closed, and then went up home to Lyndardy.
My mother and Jessie had already heard that the Falcon had come
into the harbour; they gave me a very warm welcome from this my
first voyage, and listened with interest and surprise to the things
I had to tell them.
On my way through the town the following morning I chanced to meet
my old schoolmaster, who walked along with me as far as the quay.
He had two things that he wished to tell me: the one being that his
written account of Jarl Haffling's remains had been read before the
Society of Antiquaries in Edinburgh, and was to be printed in the
Society's Transactions; the other matter being that proceedings
were, he believed, very soon to be taken against Tom Kinlay for
having appropriated a part of the viking's treasure.
When we had spoken of these matters, there was much for me to tell
the dominie; but as it was too cold for us to stand on the quay, I
took him with me aboard the schooner, where I had some advice to
ask him regarding my course in reporting the loss of the Pilgrim to
the underwriters. Seated in the cabin I told him my adventure, and
showed him all the books and papers I had taken from the barque
before she went down. He gave me what simple instruction I
required, and offered to help me in preparing my report for Lloyd's
agent. With this purpose in view I permitted Mr. Drever to take the
log book ashore with him, as well as the little chest that I had
taken from the captain's room on board the Pilgrim.
I was pushing off from the pier, having put the dominie ashore,
when I heard myself called, and there, at the head of the piers
stood my skipper, Davie Flett, newly arrived from Kirkwall. How
thankful I was to see his familiar stumpy figure again I need not
say.
He was coming down towards me when Carver Kinlay accosted him, and
kept him in conversation. But I approached the two men, taking
Flett by the hand.
He gave little notice to me beyond a very ordinary greeting; but I
saw by his eyes that he was glad enough to see me, only that he
probably had some business to talk over with the pilot. I stood by
them, wishing they would be done.
"And how's business in the islands, Davie?" said Kinlay in an
offhand tone.
"Fairly weel! fairly weel!" said the captain. "Nothing to complain
o', ye ken."
"Ay, I see!" said Carver; "no sae weel but ye might do better, eh?
I'm thinkin', Davie, ye need to open up a new line o' business
among the crofters."
"Ah! and what business is that, pilot?" asked Flett.
"Oh, I dinna just ken that, but ye canna aye sail on the same tack.
Now, supposin', for instance, ye were to start something in the
liquor line. Ye have grand facilities for that, have ye not?"
"I'll not deny that I have the facilities," observed Flett, with a
curious twinkle in his eye. "But ye see, pilot, there's no demand
for liquor in the islands. What for would I tak' spirits to the
crofters when the poor folk canna more than pay for their
bannocks?"
"Why, man alive, ye can surely make a demand? Just carry a good
supply of spirits in yer schooner, and I warrant ye'll do a grand
trade."
"Ye're maybe no far wrang there," said Davie thoughtfully. "But
then, there's another difficulty, pilot; where will the spirits
come from?"
"Why, man," said Kinlay, lowering his voice, "that's just the
simplest part o' the whole business. Think ye that no whisky comes
into Stromness forbye what gangs to Oliver Gray's? Why, man, if it
came to that, I could undertake to supply ye mysel' on the most
easy terms."
"Ay, like enough," returned Flett, with a look in his face that
Carver did not observe. "Like enough--excise paid, of course?"
"Oh! we needna say anything about the excise, Davie," said the
pilot, looking uneasy. "What does't matter about the excise?"
Davie Flett quietly stroked his bristly chin, saying:
"Weel, Carver Kinlay, it's the first time I have heard of a pilot
having a hand in that business. But, no doubt, a pilot has grand
facilities. However that may be, I'm not sure that the Orkney
crofters would welcome such a new line of business. Anyway, I have
more respect for the crofters and for their poor families than to
think of starting such a damnable traffic; nor am I in the least
disposed to turn a schooner of mine into a floating grog shop. Good
morning, pilot!"
Kinlay winced visibly under this taunting speech of the trading
captain. Evidently he had mistaken his man in supposing that Flett
would descend to his own level, and aid in promoting the nefarious
traffic he suggested. Davie Flett's intimate knowledge of the
Orcadians, and the nature of his commerce with them, would
certainly have made it easy for him to do a considerable retail
trade. But, as I well knew, the skipper of the Falcon had
systematically avoided including spirits in his stock of marketable
commodities. Though himself no enemy to an occasional dram on a
cold night, he knew too well the evil effects that would probably
follow the introduction of strong drink among the innocent
islanders, who, for the most part, had the greatest difficulty in
gaining a simple livelihood. Even apart from his moral scruples,
Davie Flett had excellent reasons for rejecting Kinlay's singular
proposal.
One thing that I gathered from this conversation was the suspicion
that Carver, who had often posed as a very innocent man, was,
either directly or indirectly, in league with the smugglers of
Scapa Flow. That could be the only way in which he could obtain
spirits or other illicit goods at a lower rate than through the
ordinary channels of commerce; and the pilot's evasion of the
question regarding excise almost confirmed my suspicions.
Kinlay walked slowly away, and when he had disappeared, Davie Flett
turned round to me with open arms as though he would embrace me.
"Halcro, my lad," said he, "I am real glad to see you. Thank the
Lord ye're safe!"
"I might say the same to you, captain," said I. "How were ye
rescued, and where are Peter and Jerry?"
"Peter and Jerry are at Oliver Gray's," he answered. "Come, let us
join them. As for mysel', why, there's nothing much to tell. I was
picked up by the boat ten minutes after I dropped owerboard. We
searched about for you all night. But ye mind what a mist was ower
the sea. It was no wonder we lost sight of the schooner. But ye're
safe, and that's a blessing."
The skipper then began to ask me a multitude of questions
concerning the behaviour of the schooner. But we were now passing
through the narrow street and I was interrupted; for we overtook
old Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar, who was trudging along
over the frost-covered stones with his dog at his heels.
"Weel, Colin, auld crony," exclaimed the skipper as we came
alongside the old man, "you're aye travelling. Think you we're to
have some more snow?"
"Nay, captain, I dinna think it; the wind's ower high for that,"
the wanderer replied, looking up at the dull sky above Gray's
signboard.
"Then if it isna snow it'll be a night o' hard frost," said the
skipper. "Will ye come in and take something to warm ye, Colin?"
And Colin silently complied.
Entering the inn we found a goodly number of men gathered round the
cosy stove with steaming glasses before them. Most of them were men
of Pomona; but I noticed also a young man who sat somewhat apart
from the rest, and in him, despite the absence of naval uniform, I
had little difficulty in recognizing Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper,
who had boarded the Falcon some weeks before in the Sound of Hoxa.
Then, too, there were Peter and Jerry, both of whom welcomed me
with many words of kindness, and made room for me beside them.
Captain Flett ordered Oliver to bring in a glass of hot rum for
himself, and two mugs of coffee for Lothian and me; and we had not
been seated long before Peter Brown inquired of me the particulars
of my solitary voyage in the Falcon. At first very few of the men
paid much attention to my narrative, but when I came to the
discovery of the ship that had been imprisoned in the ice, and told
about the man I saw through the porthole, they all drew their
chairs nearer to me and listened with rapt attention. When I spoke
about the dead captain's wife, and said that her features were
still lifelike, there was a murmur of incredulity; none of the men
would believe that I was not romancing. But the young lieutenant
here interposed.
"Let the lad go on with his yarn," he said. "Believe me it's quite
possible that the woman's face should show no signs of death. I
have known frost and ice preserve a dead body for many months."
With that they were quieted. But again, when I spoke of the log
book and said that the ship had been enclosed in the ice for
thirteen years, even the lieutenant seemed to disbelieve me.
"Thirteen years!" he exclaimed. "Come now, come, draw it mild, my
lad, that won't do at all, you've mistaken the writing somehow.
Show us the log book and then we'll believe it."
"I'm sure I did not mistake, sir," I protested, "for the writing
was as plain as plain could be,
"'New Year's Day, 1831. The ice still closing in on us. Opened last
bag of biscuits. Murray died this morning.'
"These were the very words, and I'll show you them if--"
Here I felt a trembling hand clasped on my knee, and Peter asked
excitedly, "What name did you say? Was it Murray?"
"Murray! yes, that was the man who died on New Year's Day."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Peter. "Tell me, what was the name of the
ship? Did you not find that out?"
"Why, yes, Peter, I saw her name. She was called the Pilgrim--of
Bristol."
Peter became excited, and a strange pallor came over his face.
"Why, what's come ower you, Peter?" asked Captain Flett. "D'ye know
the craft?"
"Know her!" said Peter; "I should think I did. She was my own ship.
I sailed in the Pilgrim as second mate for three years, and I
started with her on that same last voyage."
It was now my turn to show surprise.
"Your ship, Peter!" I said.
"Yes," he continued. "We sailed out of Bristol in the month of
February, 1830, bound for Copenhagen, calling at Iceland. But off
the Lewis--or was it Cape Wrath?--I had some o' my bones broken,
and they put me ashore at Kirkwall."
"Yes, she called at Kirkwall," I said. "I saw that on the chart."
"That was just before I joined the Falcon, captain," continued
Peter, turning to Flett. "I mind them all, those dead folk, even to
the dog that Ericson has told us about--a retriever named Bounce.
Our skipper was a Dane named Thomassen, and his wife sailed with us
that voyage. She was as fine a woman as ever I see in Denmark.
Murray was the first mate, and the man Ericson saw through the
porthole can have been none other than Jenkins, the supercargo; he
belonged to Bristol. The only thing that puzzles me is the man that
Ericson saw lying in the captain's room."
"Maybe he went aboard in Iceland, Peter--a passenger," suggested
Flett. "Ye canna tell."
"Ay, that'll just be it," mused Peter, "a passenger, no doubt. Ay,
I well believe that will just be what he was."
Lieutenant Fox at this point moved away from the circle to get a
light for his pipe at the stove. He stood behind us listening to a
conversation between Colin Lothian and Jack Paterson; and as Peter
Brown lapsed into silent meditation I diverted my own attention to
what Colin and Jack were saying.
"Ay, Colin, but that's news," said Paterson. "And so Harry Ewan has
fallen into their hands at last, eh!"
"Ay, just that," said Lothian. "I was over at Clestron yestreen,
and they were telling me that just as Harry was slipping round into
the Bay of Houton, thinking, no doubt, that everything was clear
for the landin' o' his cargo, the revenue boat came out from behind
the Holm, like a hawk on a ferret. Ye may be sure, Jack, that Harry
and his crew didna give in without a fight for it; but the navy
lads had the upper hand at last, and, what was more to their
purpose, they found in Ewan's lugger five gallant casks o' whisky,
not to speak o' half a dozen rolls o' tobacco, and I dinna ken how
muckle salt and candles."
Lothian had raised his voice, and several of the men had moved
closer to him to hear the particulars of this raid upon one of the
known smugglers of Scapa Flow. So much, indeed, was the general
attention occupied that none of the men seemed to regard the
entrance of yet another person into the inn parlour. This was none
other than Tom Kinlay, who, with his great boots and pea jacket on
and his sou'wester hat, looked as big a man as any of them.
For a moment he hesitated, on seeing the young naval officer, but,
emboldened by Mr. Fox's disguised appearance, he took up a position
where he could hear all that was being said.
"I canna think what had put the revenue men on the track o' the
smugglers," a fisherman was saying. "Surely if any man carried the
game on secretly it was Harry Ewan."
"What's to hinder them finding out?" said Jack Paterson. "Why, I
ken'd it lang syne, though it isna ony business o' mine to ken."
"Ah!" put in Lothian, with the air of one who was well acquainted
with the subject, "it's not the most cautious that are least
suspected o' breakin' the law. Now, I ken a man that not one here
would suspect, an' he has been carryin' on the business underhand
this many a day. But tak' my word for it, the fox has his eye on
him for all that, and it isna long before he'll be dropped on the
same as Harry Ewan."
Lieutenant Fox stepped a little nearer to the speakers.
"Oho!" exclaimed Jack Paterson; "and who may that be now, Colin?"
"Weel," replied the wanderer, "it isna for me just to say, though I
wouldna lift a hand to save ony smuggling rogue. But I ken o' a
fine hole in the face o' the clifts o' Gaulton, that would suit a
smuggler grandly for stowing away a few casks o' whisky in. Sandy
Ericson was another that ken'd it. But Sandy was an honest man."
"What!" said Paterson; "d'ye mean the cave that Sandy found Carver
Kinlay in, after the wreck o' the Undine?"
"Ay," said Colin.
"Then Kinlay kens o' the cave?" continued Jack.
"Doubtless," said Colin.
David Flett raised his eyebrows at this, and I thought of his
conversation with the pilot.
"It's no' possible that Carver has ony hand in the smuggling, is
it, Colin?" he observed.
"Weel, captain, I wonldna like to assert publicly that Carver is a
smuggler himself," said Colin; "but I shouldna be surprised though
it turn out as I suspect."
"It's a lie ye tell!" furiously exclaimed Tom Kinlay, suddenly
revealing himself, and shaking his fist in Lothian's face. "It's a
lie ye tell, ye drivelling auld idiot! And if ye canna prove what
ye say, maybe ye'll deny it?"
Colin Lothian stood up and said coolly:
"Now just hold yer tongue, Kinlay. I ken mair then I hae said. And
as to denyin' it, that I willna do. Nay, threaten as ye will, I
carena. What I say is perfectly true. Carver Kinlay's a smuggler!"
Tom Kinlay bit the stem of his clay pipe so hard that it broke in
his mouth, so great was his rage. Then, as though words of denial
were of no use, he took to the more cowardly argument of violence,
and, hissing the words, "Ye auld liar, take that," raised his hand,
and struck a blow at Colin Lothian's face.
But Jack Paterson knocked up the lad's arm, and caught Tom round
the waist, dragging him forcibly away.
"What! ye young scamp, would ye strike an auld man?" he said.
And he raised Tom Kinlay in his strong arms high in air, and almost
threw him out at the open door.
"That was smartly done, my man," said Lieutenant Fox. "I wish we
had a few such fellows as you aboard the Clasper."
And thus revealing himself, the officer finished his drink and
leisurely left us.
"Who's that chap just gone out?" asked Paterson.
"It's Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper," I said.
"If that be so, then," said Colin, "it seems to me he has gone away
wiser than he came."
"Ay," said Paterson; "it's no use wonderin' how the revenue lads
get to ken about the smugglers, if that be the way they set about
it."
Shortly afterwards we went aboard the Falcon, and the rest of the
day was spent in cleaning up after the voyage, and in balancing our
accounts. In this latter occupation I think my assistance was not
without value to Davie Flett, whose system of bookkeeping was
original and peculiar, involving a large use of hieroglyphics,
which were not always clear even to the skipper himself.
That evening when I tramped over the moor to Lyndardy the snow fell
heavily--a driving, drifting snow that penetrated into every cranny
it had access to, and collected in deep wreaths on meadow and moor.
The cold wind blew hard from the north, carrying the fine snow past
me in great clouds that curled and swept along the hard ground,
forming in some places high barriers that were almost impassable,
in other places leaving the ground perfectly bare.