Our enjoyment of the sail was so full that we spoke but little.  We talked of Tom Kinlay’s work on his father’s new boat, and made surmises as to the nature of the trade or traffic it was to be engaged in; but whether the boat was to be sent to the saith fishing, or to be used as a tender to the ships, we could not tell.

There was one thing that Robbie wanted to set his mind easy about, and that was the viking’s amulet.  In common with all the lads in the school, he had heard of the wonderful powers attributed to this little stone; and, like them, he was thoroughly credulous of its ability to preserve me from personal harm, vet anxious as I was myself to put it to the proof.

“I’d like fine if we could have a chance of adventure today,” he said, taking the stone in his hand as it hung by a cord from my neck.  “How can we be sure that the thing will be the saving of you, if ye dinna put it to the trial?”

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” I said.  “But there’s no use seeking danger for the sake of trying the effects of the charm.  Maybe we’ll find the danger without seeking it, however, and then we’ll have the proof.”

As we sailed swiftly under the high cliffs of Hoy Head we watched the mad plunging of the landward-rushing waves, and saw them hurl themselves at the great rocks, leaping in clouds of spray.  What a rattle and a roar each wave made on the pebbles of the beach as it drew back before returning to the charge!  And in the midst of the foam the sea birds circled and screamed in their flight.

We had some difficulty in finding a safe landing place among the surge; but at last we steered the boat into the quiet Bay of the Stairs, and soon drove her nose into the stony beach and drew her well up out of the water, fastening her painter round a large rock.

Safely landed, Robbie shouldered the climbing ropes and I took the gun, having a stock of dry powder and shot in my pockets.  We climbed over some large boulders into the next creek, where, as we had expected, we found a multitude of noisy sea birds, some floating on the clear pools on the shore; others running about among the sea-worn stones or seeking food with busy beaks in the bright green and crimson weeds that lay in patches among the pebbles.  The ledges of the cliffs were crowded with gulls, whose plumage was as snowy as the very foam that the high waves scattered over their ranks.  In a little cove at the extremity of the bay were scores of kittiwakes, chattering over some dead fish thrown up by the sea.

Here was a rare hunting ground for two eager young sportsmen!  Close to us a couple of turnstones, smart little birds in brown, with bright-red legs and beaks, were busy on a heap of kelp.  I levelled my gun at them, and was about to fire, when Robbie stayed my hand and pointed to a large cormorant sheltered in a deep niche of the cliff and looking darker even than the dark rock over its head.  I altered the direction of my aim, keeping well out of the bird’s sight, with my back against a wall of granite.