One time, when we were so sitting together, I noticed an eagle rise from a ravine in St. John’s Head, and we watched the bird sailing backward and forward on steady outstretched wing and finally disappear amid the shadows of the Red Glen.  This suggested a long talk about the eagles that inhabited the solitudes of Hoy Island, and the skipper told many a thrilling story of his own adventures in search of eagles’ nests in the time when rich rewards were offered for every eagle killed.

At midday the Falcon was abreast of the Old Man of Hoy—­a curious isolated pinnacle of rock some five hundred feet in height standing out in the sea—­and before the time of sunset we rounded Rora Head and entered a beautiful sheltered bay with a fine stretch of sloping beach, beyond which, on the brown moor, about a dozen tiny houses could be seen snugly nestling together beside a flowing stream that had its source away up amongst the hills.

This was Rackwick, one of the chief hamlets of Hoy; and when the schooner was brought well inshore the anchor was dropped.  The captain then ordered Jerry to blow the horn to announce our arrival to the inhabitants far and near.  Jerry thereupon took the fog horn and blew it till the noise resounded and echoed for miles around.  Then we all went below to a meal of good Orkney herrings and hot tea.

The meal was just finished, and the men were lighting their pipes, when a boat from the shore was brought alongside—­a heavy, clumsy boat with great square oars pulled by two burly crofters.

When I went on deck with the skipper I found that our arrival at Rackwick had been expected for some time.

“Man, Davie,” interrogated one of the crofters in a broad Orkney dialect, “where has thoo been wandering sae lang?  They was expecting thee mair than a twa week syne.  Was thoo thinking o’ starving us all?”

“Starving you, Tam,” returned Flett.  “Nay, nay, lad, we’ll see ye dinna starve.  Come aboard, lad, and let’s know what you’re needing.  We have everything you can want, from a needle to an anchor.  So just name it and you’ll get it.”

“We’re needing none o’ your anchors,” said the crofter in a matter-of-fact tone as he climbed up the schooner’s side, “but I just mind now, Mary Seater lost her last needle a week syne, and we have but twa needles in all Rackwick, so thoo’d better gie us a penny’s worth.”

Captain Flett told me to get the slate and pencil from below, and as the crofter gave his orders for the articles required I wrote these down under the initial item, “Needles, 1d.”

When all the necessaries were brought together, they formed a goodly pile of merchandise in the boat.  Here were bags of potatoes and of meal, a few loaves of bread, some tin cans and crockery, pieces of cloth, and coils of rope and small parcels of groceries.  I went ashore in the boat to help the two men to unload her, and when this was done there was the work of bringing back to the Falcon what things were to be exported or given in exchange for goods received.