The Pilots of Pomona | Page 5

The whaling ships are to sail by this afternoon's tide, and as many of you have brothers and fathers aboard, I don't doubt that Mr. Drever will let you away;" and he added, turning to the master, "What do you say, Andrew?"
"I'm sure, sir," said Mr. Drever, "I have no objections to offer;" and he looked out through the window as though to satisfy himself that the weather was suitable for an afternoon's fishing.
Mr. Duke then went into the inner room to have a gossip with old Grace Drever. The schoolmaster pronounced the benediction, and we flocked noisily outside.
As I was leaving with Robbie Rosson, Mr. Drever called me back.
"Don't leave the hooks here, Ericson," he said; "you'll be needing them for the fishing."
And taking the fishhooks from his desk he again examined them attentively, admiring the fine workmanship displayed in the turn of their points.
"My lad, these are fine hooks for a sea trout," he continued; "you'll have gotten them from Kirkwall, no doubt?"
"No," I said. "Father got them from one of the captains. I'd like if you'd keep some of them, Mr. Drever;" and I offered him three of the best.
"Oh no, no!" he exclaimed, "I could not think of taking them from you. I didn't mean that.
"But maybe, well, maybe I might just have the loan of one of them to try this afternoon. I'm going away to Kirbister to see if I can catch a few sea trout."
"Kirbister for sea trout!" said I, knowing that on the subject of fishing I might venture to disagree with even so practised an angler as Andrew Drever. "If you're seeking sea trout you need go no further than the Bush. There's not a stream in the Mainland equal to the Bush. Take the hooks, sir, and I'll warrant you'll bring home a full basket."
"Well, I'll take your advice and try the Bush, for it's aye the lads that find out the best waters. Thank you for the hooks, Halcro. Away with you; and see you're not so late at the school another morning."
And as I scampered down the brae, I knew that he was watching me from the door.
In the street I found Tom Kinlay and two other boys waiting for me, and arranging an excursion across the hills to Skaill Bay to hunt for seals. It was an expedition in which I very readily agreed to join, and it was arranged that we should meet early in the afternoon on the moor between Voy and Crua Breck.
Chapter IV.
Sandy Ericson, Pilot.
My home was close beside the school. There were only a few steps to skip across the narrow main street, and a turn into the Anchor Close brought me to my mother's door. Many of my companions, however, had several miles to travel. Tom and Thora Kinlay lived at Crua Breck farm, distant from Stromness four miles; and little Hilda Paterson, the youngest girl in the school, lived at her father's croft away beyond Stenness, and walked the five miles--barefooted--twice a day.
When I got home the brose for dinner was cooling on the windowsill, and my mother was frying the fish I had caught in the morning. My sister Jessie sat near the window plaiting straw--an industry common in Orkney at that time.
"Hello, Hal! back already?" Jessie exclaimed, putting her work aside as I threw my books and slate in the corner beside her. "Come away and look out for father. He has just brought in a new ship."
We went out upon the little jetty where I had fished in the morning, at the extremity of the passage in which our house stood, and there we waited and watched for my father's boat.
With this stone pier my earliest recollections were connected. When I was but an infant my father had carried me out in his great strong arms, and for the first time showed me the sun rising over the furrowed hills of Orphir. He had directed my childish eyes to the deep green of the sea water as it rippled gently against the wall of our house. It was here that, as a boy, I had, by rolling over the pier like a ball, made a more intimate acquaintance with the element that was to be as familiar to me as my native air. Here, too, I had caught my first fish, and hence despatched to unknown lands my little fleet of wooden boats with their quaint paper sails.
The ship that my father had just brought into port was a trim barque, with high, tapering masts and a bright-green hull.
"What's her name, Hal?" inquired Jessie as the vessel was brought to.
I had accustomed myself to make out ships' names at great distances, and as the barque swung round with the stream I could read the words "Lydia of