Then the man at the wheel was seen in all his great beauty—­a man of lofty stature perfectly formed and full of power and grace in every movement.  His head had an antique massiveness and was crowned with bright brown hair thrown backward.  His forehead was wide and contemplative, his eyes large and gray and thickly fringed, lustrous but not piercing.  His loving and vehement soul was not always at their windows, but when there, it drew or commanded all who met its gaze.  His nose was long and straight, showing great refinement, and his chin unblunted by animal passions.  A wonderful face, because the soul and the mind always found their way at once and in full force to it, as well as to the gestures, the speech, and every action of the body.  And this was the quality which gave to the whole man that air of distinction with which Nature autographs her noblest work.

When they reached the Hoy he left the wheel and stood in wonder and awe gazing at the sea around him.  For some time it had been cloudy and unquiet, but among these great basaltic pillars and into their black measureless caves it flung itself with the rush and roar of a ten-knot tide gone mad.  Yet the thundering bellow of its waves was not able to drown the aerial clamor of the millions of sea-birds that made these lonely pillars and cliffs their home.  Eagles screamed from their summits.  Great masses of marrots and guillemots rocked on the foam.  Kittiwakes of every kind in incalculable numbers and black and brown-backed gulls by the thousands filled the air as thickly as snowflakes in a winter’s storm; while from shelves and pinnacles of the cliffs, incredible numbers of gannots were diving with prodigious force and straight as an arrow, after their prey—­all plunging, rising, screaming and shrieking, like some maddened human mob, the more terrible because of the ear-piercing metallic ring of their unceasing clamor.

After a long silence John Hatton turned to his Captain and said,

“Is it always like this, Captain?”

“It is often much livelier, sir.  I have seen swarms of sea-birds miles long, darkening the air with their wings.  Our Great Father has many sea children, sir.  Next summer—­God willing!—­we might sail to the Faroe Islands, and you would be among His whales, and His whale men.”

“Then you have been to the Faroes?”

“More than once or twice.  I used to take them on my road to Iceland.  It is a wayless way there, but I know it.  And the people are a happy, comfortable, pious lot; they are that!  Most of them whale-hunters and whale-eaters.”

“Eaters?”

“To be sure, sir.  When it is fresh, a roast of whale isn’t half bad.  I once tried it myself.”

“Once?”

“Well, then, I didn’t want it twice.  You know, I’m beef-bred.  That makes a difference, sir.  I like to go to lonely islands, and as a general thing I favor the kind of people that live on them.”