"AH, MANY A MEMORY OF HOW YE DEALT WITH ME."
When Yaspard reached the other shore he was met by two boys, one his
own age, the other about thirteen. These were Laurence and Gilbert
Harrison, sons of Mr. Adiesen's factotum, and they were usually styled
Lowrie and Gibbie.
Boden was a small island, and there were only three houses on it,
namely, the Ha', the factor's house, and Trullyabister, a very ancient
dwelling nearly in ruins. Every house in Shetland has a name of its
own, so has every knoll and field and crag and islet, therefore the Ha'
was called Moolapund, and the Harrisons' house Noostigard. To attend
church the inhabitants were obliged to cross to a neighbouring island,
and this the majority of them did very regularly. Stores were brought
twice a year from the town of Lerwick; and it seldom happened that
these ran short, for Miss Adiesen was a shrewd housewife and James
Harrison a notable manager; also the Laird was somewhat eccentric, and
objecting strongly to all society outside of Boden, did not like that
"provisions short" should be made an excuse for frequent expeditions to
the larger islands.
The isolated life of Boden had certain charms of its own for a
scientist like Mr. Adiesen, and a quiet domestic creature like his
sister, whose happiness had been wrecked in early life, and who desired
nothing better than to hide herself at Moolapund and devote her life to
the wants of her lost twin-brother's children.
Boden was a pleasant home to the Harrisons', for they were a large
family, simple crofters, content in each other's society, and
cherishing no earthly ambition. It was a satisfactory retreat from the
world for Gaun Neeven, who lived alone with a half-witted attendant in
the old house of Trullyabister. It was a paradise to little Signy,
whose imaginative, romantic nature found infinite delight in the beauty
of the Isle, in its myriads of sea-fowl, in its grand-encircling ocean,
in the freedom and poetry of life with such environs. But to a strong
lad like Yaspard, full of vitality, longing for action and the company
of his fellows, there was less to content him, and much to stir in him
that spirit of mischief which attends on every energetic boy not
blessed with wise guardians, and with plenty of time on his hands.
"Come into the boat, boys," said Yaspard, as he ran his skiff to the
noost; and the brothers, nothing loth, scrambled aboard.
"I ran across," said our hero, plunging at once into his subject, "to
tell you about a magnificent scheme I have in my head. I am going to
be a Viking!"
If he had announced his intention of becoming Czar of all the Russias
these boys would have taken it as a matter of course. They merely
opened their eyes and said "Weel?" Yaspard had rather expected to
surprise them, and was a little disconcerted by the way his startling
intention was received.
"I've told you heaps about Vikinger," he said; "you know just what I
mean, eh?"
"Weren't they pirates?" Gibbie asked.
"No--at least they would be called that now, but it was different when
they lived. There was no way of discovering new lands and getting lots
of riches, being great men and doing all sorts of grand things, except
by becoming Vikings. It was the only way."
"But they killed people, and robbed, and made slaves. Everybody was
frightened when a Viking ship hove in sight," said Lowrie, who was
rather reflective for his age and station.
"So they did; but it could not be helped. Besides, every one tried to
do the same. And for the matter of that, don't people do the same now?
Don't they fight still, and in a worse way? for the Vikinger only laid
on man for man, but now any nation who invents the most murderous
machine for shooting can mow down armies of men miles off. As for the
stealing--what is half the trade of the world but a kind of civil
picking of somebody's pocket--a 'doing' of some one. And slavery; bah!
slaves enough in Britain while the pressgang can carry off any man it
likes. But there--what's the good of such talk? I'm not going to be a
Viking in a bad way, so you need not be afraid. It will all be for
adventure, and glory and daring, and jolly good fun, I tell you."
"All right; we're game for whatever you please," answered the Harrisons.
After that Yaspard entered into some details of his scheme, and
explained portions in which he specially required their co-operation.
They were soon as enamoured of the project as he, and eager to begin a
career which promised such scope for wild adventure. Some time slipped
past while the confabulation lasted, and the dusk of a Shetland summer
evening--the poetic "dim"--had fallen upon Boden before the lads
separated.
"I'll be over again to-morrow early," said Yaspard, as he pulled out
from the shore; "mind you have some armour ready by the time I come."
The light breeze which had wafted him to Noostigard had fallen to a
calm, therefore the sail was of no use; but a pair of oars in his
muscular hands soon carried the little _Osprey_ to her quay, and there
Signy was waiting.
"I've been longer than I meant to be, Mootie," he called out; "I am
afraid it is too late to take you off."
"Never mind," she answered; "I don't want to go now. There has been
such a disturbance in the house--such a terrific upset. It has made me
laugh and cry--I hardly know which I ought to do now about it."
"An upset!" Yaspard exclaimed. "Praise the powers, as Mam Kirsty says.
I'm glad the humdrum has had a break. What was it, Signy?"
"It was a letter."
"A letter! Was that all?"
"All!" exclaimed the girl; "you won't say a letter is a little 'all'
when you hear what it did. The mailbag came across this afternoon when
we were sitting at the Teng, never thinking!--and uncle got a letter
from the young Laird of Lunda which made him furious. You know what
happens when Uncle Brüs is angry."
"I know. I'm glad it does not happen often, poor old man! Well, what
next?"
"He rampaged, and set Aunt Osla off crying. Then he began experiments
with that new chemical machine, and nearly blew up the house. The
windows of his Den are smashed, and you never saw anything like the
mess there is in it--broken glass, books, methylated spirits,
specimens, everything."
"Hurrah!" shouted Yaspard, cutting short Signy's story; "don't tell me
more. Let's go and see."
He fastened up his boat, took his sister's hand, and ran quickly up the
brae to his home.
There indeed was a scene of devastation, as far as the scientist's
study was concerned. It looked as though a volcano had irrupted there:
bookshelves were overturned, chairs and tables were sprawling legs in
air, liquids were oozing in rainbow hues over manuscripts, odours of
the most objectionable kind filled the air. A tame raven was hopping
among the debris, with an eye to choice "remains" dropping from broken
jars; a strange-looking fish was gasping its last breath on the sofa,
among broken fragments of its crystal tank. A huge grey cat was
standing, with her back arched, on the mantelpiece--the only place she
deemed secure--surveying the scene, and ready for instant flight, or
fight, if another explosion seemed imminent.
Pirate was lying at the open door, watching the movements of Thor (the
raven), whose depredatory proclivities were well known to the dog.
Thor, perfectly aware that a detective's eye was upon him, did not
venture to abstract any of the wreckage, but assumed an air of careless
curiosity as he hopped about among Mr. Adiesen's demoralised treasures.
Mr. Adiesen himself had disappeared. He had been stunned for a few
moments by the explosion; but on recovering he only waited to realise
the ruin he had wrought, and then, seizing a favourite geological
hammer, he raced away to the rocks to practise what stood him in place
of strong language.
No one had dared to attempt restoring order in the Den; the maids would
not have set foot within its door for their lives. Miss Adiesen was
soothing her nerves with tea, which Mam Kirsty was administering with
loud and voluble speech.
"My! what a sight!" Yaspard exclaimed, as he looked into the study.
"And what a smell! It's enough to frighten the French," and he turned
into the parlour, where his aunt was comforting her nerves after her
favourite manner, as I said.
"You've been having a high old time, auntie," he cried, laughing. "I
never saw such a rare turn-out in Moolapund before."
"You may say so," sobbed Aunt Osla. "It is a 'turn-out' and a 'high
old' business. We were near going high enough, let alone your uncle,
whose escape is nothing short of a miracle. I always said there would
be mischief done with those mixtures and glass tubes, and machines for
heating dangerous coloured stuff. A rare turn-out! Yes; there is not
much left in his room to turn out--it's all turned. But it isn't the
specimens and all that I mind so very much, after all, though that is
bad enough, considering all the time and money he has spent on them.
It is the--the cause of all this that--that breaks my heart. Oh dear!"
and she broke out a-weeping again.