Then came the afternoon on which they were to set out for the
first time after the herring. All Erisaig came out to see; and
Rob was a proud lad as he stepped on board, and took his seat as
stroke oar.
It was not until they were at the mouth of the harbor that
something occurred which seemed likely to turn this fine setting
out into ridicule. This was Daft Sandy (a half-witted old man to
whom Robert MacNicol had been kind), who rowed his boat right
across the course of the Mary of Argyle, and, as she came up,
called to Rob.
"What do you want?" cried Rob.
"I want to come on board, Rob," the old man said, as he now rowed
his boat up to the stern of the yacht. "Rob," said he, in a
whisper, as he fastened the painter of his boat, "I promised I
would tell you something. I'll show you how to find the herring."
"You!" said Rob.
"Yes, Rob," said Daft Sandy; "I'll make a rich man of you. I will
tell you something about the herring that no one in Erisaig
knows,--that no one in all Scotland knows."
Then he begged Rob to take him for that night's fishing. He had
discovered a sure sign of the presence of herring, unknown to any
of the fishermen: it was the appearance, on the surface of the
water, of small air-bubbles.
Rob MacNicol was doubtful, for he had never heard of this thing
before; but at last he could not resist the pleading of the old
man. So they pulled in, and anchored the boats until toward
sunset. Then, taking poor Sandy on board of the Mary of Argyle,
they set forth again, rowing slowly as the light faded out of the
sky, and keeping watch all around on the almost glassy sea.