We narrowly escaped a bad accident as we were leaving the St. Magnus.  She carried a large number of sheep and Shetland ponies on deck, and our way off the ship was along a rather narrow passage formed by the cattle on one side and a pile of merchandise on the other.  The passengers were walking in single file, my brother immediately in front of myself, when one of the ponies suddenly struck out viciously with its hind legs just as we were passing.  If we had received the full force of the kick, we should have been incapacitated from walking; but fortunately its strength was exhausted when it reached us, and it only just grazed our legs.  The passengers behind thought at first we were seriously injured, and one of them rushed forward and held the animal’s head to prevent further mischief; but the only damage done was to our overalls, on which the marks of the pony’s hoofs remained as a record of the event.  On reaching the landing-place the passengers all came forward to congratulate us on our lucky escape, and until they separated we were the heroes of the hour, and rather enjoyed the brief notoriety.

There was an old-world appearance about Kirkwall reminiscent of the time

  When Norse and Danish galleys plied
    Their oars within the Firth of Clyde,
  When floated Haco’s banner trim
    Above Norwegian warriors grim,
  Savage of heart and huge of limb.

for it was at the palace there that Haco, King of Norway, died in 1263.  There was only one considerable street in the town, and this was winding and narrow and paved with flags in the centre, something like that in Lerwick, but the houses were much more foreign in appearance, and many of them had dates on their gables, some of them as far back as the beginning of the fifteenth century.  We went to the same hotel as on our outward journey, and ordered a regular good “set out” to be ready by the time we had explored the ancient cathedral, which, like our ship, was dedicated to St. Magnus.  We were directed to call at a cottage for the key, which was handed to us by the solitary occupant, and we had to find our way as best we could.  After entering the ancient building, we took the precaution of locking the door behind us.  The interior looked dark and dismal after the glorious sunshine we had left outside, and was suggestive more of a dungeon than a place of worship, and of the dark deeds done in the days of the past.  The historian relates that St. Magnus met his death at the hands of his cousin Haco while in the church of Eigleshay.  He had retired there with a presentiment of some evil about to happen him, and “while engaged in devotional exercises, prepared and resigned for whatever might occur, he was slain by one stroke of a hatchet.  Being considered eminently pious, he was looked upon as a saint, and his nephew Ronald built the cathedral in accordance with a vow made before leaving Norway to lay claim to the Earldom of Orkney.”