Chapter 9

I was oppressed with a weight of weariness by the time that I came within sight of Stromness. After leaving Hercus and Rosson over at Yeskenaby, I met not a person until I reached the shores of Hamla Voe. Here, however, on turning from the moorland path into the main road, I saw a stranger resting upon the low wall at the roadside. He was evidently admiring the scene presented by the quiet bay of Stromness.

A barque lay at anchor in the harbour, her tall, tapering masts and taut ropes clearly defined against the gray sky. Beyond the bright beacon light of the Ness, the sloping island of Graemsay could barely be distinguished from the deep purple mountains of Hoy, and along the line of the bay stood the gabled houses of the town, their dimly-lighted windows reflected on the water.

As I approached the stranger, I saw that he was a seafarer.

"Fine night, sir," I said in salutation as I passed him.

"Ay, very fine. What way is the wind, my lad?"

"Sou'-sou'-west," I replied, looking up at a few flecks of white cloud in the clear sky.

"Are you going on to Stromness? If so, I will walk along with you. That's a fine bird you're carrying. What do you call it?"

"A hen harrier, sir. My dog caught it over on the moor. Is that your barque lying in the bay, sir, the Lydia?"

"Ay; she's a rakish craft, isn't she? We're sailing again in the morning for South America. Do you think we shall have a fair wind, my lad?"

"Yes, if it does not veer round too much to the westward."

"You appear to have studied the weather," he said.

"Yes," I answered. "In Stromness we all notice the wind, and father has taught me to know all the signs of the weather."

"Then your father is a fisherman, I suppose?" he remarked, as he turned to walk down the brae with me.

"Father's a pilot," I said. "I'm Sandy Ericson's lad."

"Ericson! Ah! I know Ericson. He's a splendid fellow, a regular Norseman, in fact."

And then he proceeded to praise my father as I had so often before heard him praised, and with all of which I did not venture to disagree.

He spoke with me until we reached the entrance to the town, where I noticed Andrew Drever, my schoolmaster, walking in advance of us, carrying his rod under his arm and a string of fish in his hand.

"Good evening, sir!" I said, as we overtook him.

"Hello, Halcro, my lad!" he exclaimed, as cheerily as though he had not seen me for weeks.

"Good evening!" said my sailor companion to the dominie. "I see you have some fine trout there."

"Yes," said Andrew, when he had returned the greeting. "They're not so bad, and I've had some fine sport with them. Are you coming from Kirkwall?"

"No," replied the sailor. "I was just up the hill there for a saunter in the gloaming. The gloaming lasts very long here, I notice. What time is it dark in midsummer?"

"In midsummer?" replied Andrew. "Well, it's seldom darker than this; and on the twenty-first of June you can see the sun even at midnight from the top of the Ward Hill yonder. You'll belong to one of the ships here, no doubt, sir?"

"Yes, that barque out there with the tall masts."

"Ay, she came in today. That will be the Lydia, I'm thinking, and you will be Captain Gordon? Bailie Duke was telling me you were in the port. And when do you sail?"

"Tomorrow," said the captain. "We're bound for Brazil; but I was wanting to see some people tonight. Pilot Ericson asked me to smoke a pipe with him. Then I have to see Grace Drever, to--"

"Grace Drever!" exclaimed the dominie, evidently wondering what the sailor could want to see his mother for.

"Yes," continued Captain Gordon. "My ship's overrun with mice, and I was directed to Grace Drever, who, I am told, deals in all the charms and cantrips a sailor can require."

"Charms and cantrips!" echoed the schoolmaster. "Why, who on earth has been putting such notions into your head? I doubt if you go to Grace Drever on such an errand you'll be disappointed, sir."

"You know the old lady, then?" said the captain.

"Just as well as a man can know his own mother," replied Andrew.

"Oh! then, you'll be the schoolmaster? Really, I beg your pardon; but I was told that Mistress Drever had dealings with such things; and although I am not exactly superstitious--"

"Never mind, sir, never mind. It's just some ignorant lads have been making up the story; and it's all one to me, for I know well it's not true. There was once a woman in Stromness, I will allow, who used to sell favourable winds to the sailors. But though there is still a most lamentable amount of superstition in the Orkney folk--belief in witches and warlocks and such nonsense--it's gradually, just gradually, dying away."

"No doubt the influence of your schools," observed the captain, anxious to conciliate.

"Ay, no doubt," said Andrew. "But what was it you were saying about mice?"

"Why, we're just infested with them, and I must get either cats or poison for them, or I'll not say but we may be manned by mice instead of men before we get beyond Cape Wrath."

"My mother has a cat," quietly remarked Andrew, "one of the few we have in Orkney. And though she does not deal in witchery, you might bring her to part with Baudrons. Now, if you'll come home with me and have a taste of these trout--"

"Oh, thanks, thanks, most happy!" said the captain.

Now this, I thought, was a very graceful invitation for Andrew Drever to give to a stranger who had only a few moments before implied that his mother was a witch. But it was a kindness such as he was ever showing; and I must add that Captain Gordon was one of those easy-mannered sailors who at once give an agreeable impression. I myself liked him from the very first, and I had afterwards many reasons for rejoicing in the friendship thus casually made.

"I have something here for you, sir," I said to the schoolmaster, holding up the dead falcon that I carried.

"Oh! come along with us, too, Halcro. Send your dog home, and come and take some supper with me."

I assented, and continued walking by his side as he talked with the captain.

We had now entered the street of Stromness. It was a narrow passage which one might span with arms outstretched, and paved without a causeway--for it was built when there were no vehicles in Orkney--and crooked as the inside of a whelk shell, suggesting starlight smuggling and romantic meetings. In the windows and obscure corners of the passages dim lamps peeped forth in the darkness, and the flickering firelight in the houses fell upon the stones through the open doorways, whereat sailors stood smoking their pipes and gossiping women talked.

We turned up a little lane that led to the schoolhouse, and my dog trotted home without me, to let my mother know I was near.