The sad catastrophe in Hoy Sound cast a gloom over the little town of Stromness, where the unfortunate men had been held in great respect.  By the fishers and sailors of the island Sandy Ericson had been regarded as a sort of chief.  When any ship touched at the port it was his genial face that was first seen, and when they passed on their long voyages to distant lands it was he who gave the last word of farewell.  Among the women he had been esteemed as an oracle, to whom they went for comfort in stormy weather when in doubt as to the fate of lovers or husbands at the fishing; and even the young children had learned to know his heavy stride, and to run into the street when he approached, that they might cling to his great, gentle hand and hear his kind, cheery voice.

The accident had been seen by a large number of women who had gathered on the Lookout Hill, where they were wont to assemble in rough weather when watching for the return of the fishing smacks.  When the Curlew was seen to capsize a loud shriek rent the air, for all knew that to be cast into that dreadful tideway meant almost certain death.  The impulse of my sister Jessie and Thora to put out in a small boat that lay at the water’s edge, on the possible chance of saving some of us, was, therefore, looked upon as a mad freak.  But when the two girls were seen to rescue me from the upturned boat, they were praised for their promptitude.

My own rescue, however, was much marvelled at.  I had been known as a good swimmer; but that was not extraordinary in a place where swimming and cliff climbing were learnt before the alphabet.  What was wondered at was that I had managed to keep afloat and swim so far when all the men had perished.  When it was whispered about, therefore, that I was in possession of a magic stone which had the power of protecting me from the dangers of the deep, the credulous people readily grasped at the explanation of supernatural assistance, and thenceforth I was distinguished amongst them as one over whom Providence had cast a miraculous garment to protect me, as Earl Ewan was protected in the olden time.

But if by the people of Stromness generally the calamity was lamented over, how much keener was the grief of those who had been bereft of husbands, fathers, brothers!  All the men of the Curlew were married and had families, with the exception of my uncle Mansie.  But in Mansie’s death my mother had to mourn the loss of a brother in addition to the loss of her husband.

In our house in the Anchor Close, where the crew had so often sat in readiness to put out the boat, all was now hushed, and the busy life of my mother and Jessie was suddenly checked and deprived of all hope, their domestic duties robbed of all meaning.  My mother wandered about the house in melancholy, or sat before the fire expressing her woe in long-drawn sighs.  Very often she walked down the jetty and looked out across the breezy bay, as though she expected to see the Curlew coming in, and then she would return with tears filling her eyes, and take up her knitting to hide her grief in work, forgetting for the moment that the stockings she was making were for him who would never, never wear them.