Chapter 21

When I returned to consciousness the warm sunlight was slanting down upon me. I opened my eyes and saw the snowy clouds floating in the blue sky. I thought I had but fallen asleep in the stern of the Curlew as she lay against the jetty on that Sabbath afternoon.

I felt the boat rising and falling gently on the tide. All was quiet, except for the swishing of the water against the planks of the boat.

I tried to speak:

"Father," I said, thinking he was there on the jetty smoking.

Then I felt a hand laid gently on my breast and a shadow crossed between me and the sun.

"He is waking!" said a voice that sounded as sweet as the song of the skylark to my ears: "Halcro! Halcro!"

A soft hand raised my head, and then I saw, looking down into my eyes, a beautiful face, framed in a mass of waving hair that the sunlight had turned into brightest gold. It was the face of Thora Kinlay.

How Thora came to be there, leaning over me, I could not tell. My mind was in a strange confusion, and I remembered nothing of what I had gone through. But soon I heard another voice speaking to me. It was the voice of my sister Jessie.

"Halcro! Halcro!" it murmured.

"Where am I?" I asked; for I could not understand how I came to be lying in the bottom of a little sailing boat with my limbs all aching and trembling.

And Jessie and Thora were at my side--Jessie steering, and Thora holding the rope of the little lug sail. How did it all come about?

Then Jessie, bidding me lie still, told me in a few words how she and Thora had watched the race between the Curlew and the St. Magnus, standing on the high ground of the Ness point. They had seen the accident, and had immediately put out together in a little boat that was lying on the beach. They had rescued me from the upturned Curlew, where I lay in a faint, and were now making for the Lydia.

"Have they saved father?" I asked.

But the girls did not know. They had not seen anyone picked up by the St. Magnus.

"Where is Carver's boat now?" I inquired; and feeling my strength return to me somewhat, I raised myself up and sat on the seat at the stern beside my sister, while Thora went forward to the mast to be in readiness to lower the sail.

We were now, as I could see, only a few fathoms distant from the Lydia, which was lying athwart the stream, thus breaking the force of the current, and making it possible for us to draw up alongside. The St. Magnus was already there, having, as I afterwards found, given up the search for the unfortunate crew of the Curlew. Carver Kinlay was aboard on the quarterdeck engaged in an altercation with the skipper, who stood at the gangway.

"Heave us a rope, captain!" cried out Jessie; and Thora caught the line that was thrown down, while I helped her to draw our boat to the ship's side.

My clothes were still very wet in spite of the warm sun; but, with some difficulty, I got up the barque's side and joined Captain Gordon at the gangway.

"Have any of our men been saved?" I asked. "My father, is he--?"

But I saw by the skipper's downcast face that the worst had happened. I turned to Kinlay:

"Did you not pick up any of them?" I inquired.

"It was no use," said he sullenly. "We could save none of them."

"You might very well have done so if you'd been more prompt," said Captain Gordon. "I saw two of the poor men above water when you turned to come back."

"Why did ye not send out a boat yerself, then?" said Kinlay.

"Because I have none, except the lifeboat there. We lost the others in the storm. But it was little use my thinking of launching a heavy lifeboat when you were afloat there at hand."

"Well, well, it couldn't be helped," said Kinlay. "It was their own fault they were capsized, and there's no use talking. Put your helm to starboard, skipper, and let's get you into port."

"Is this man a pilot, Ericson?" asked Captain Gordon, turning to me.

"No," I said; "I believe he has not yet taken out his license. He started piloting two days since in opposition to my father."

Kinlay scowled almost savagely at me for saying this. But I knew very well that he was not a fully qualified pilot, whatever he might become, now that my father was drowned. He lost much of his swaggering manner, however, and was very quiet when Captain Gordon ordered him off the ship.

"Since that is so, then," said the captain, "you may leave this ship, and young Ericson will take us into the harbour. The lad may have no more claim to pilot us than yourself, but I doubt not he is quite as capable."

Kinlay walked across the quarterdeck at this dismissal, but as he put one leg over the gangway to get down to his boat, he said in a hoarse voice, and with a sly leer in his dark eye:

"I say, skipper, if ye're examined by the authorities, just say you gave every assistance--that ye hove ropes over--d'ye see? It's a very lamentable thing. But it was their own faults, their own faults."

"What d'ye mean?" said the captain. "I did heave ropes over, and I need tell no lies about it. I gave more assistance than you did, ye blackguard."

"Oh, very well, very well! I thought I'd just put you on your guard, d'ye see, in case you're examined."

And so saying, Kinlay disappeared over the rail, and was soon sailing away, taking Thora with him.

My sister Jessie had come aboard while Carver and the captain were altercating. She came up to the captain and in great distress asked him if he was sure no more could be done to find our father and the other men; at which he expressed his belief that it was impossible to do anything further. I must add that this was also my own impression, for I well knew that as the poor fellows had been unable to keep afloat until Kinlay came up to them, nothing could now save them from that terrible current.

But already we could see that there were several boats out looking for the men. They could do more than we, for in the meantime the Lydia was herself running into some danger, drifting outward with the current.

I spent no time in expressions of regret or lamentation over the calamity that had befallen the men of the Curlew; but, feeling that it was in some measure my duty to undertake the work my father had set out to perform, I told Captain Gordon the best course to take to cheat the tide, and gave him such advice as only a person acquainted with Hoy Sound could possibly give. Under these directions the barque was guided through the easiest channels into the smooth water inside the Holms, where the anchor was dropped and the vessel secured.

Captain Gordon, who had been very kind to me during all this time, procured me a can of hot coffee to send away my chill. He then threw a warm pea jacket over my trembling shoulders, and came ashore with us in the small boat that Jessie and Thora had taken the use of. He also accompanied us to our home to break the sad news to our mother--a mission in which he showed a fine tenderness and sympathy of heart.