The Pilots of Pomona

Robert Leighton

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THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBO THE PILOTS OF POMONA, BY RO LEIGHTON
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Pilots of Pomona Author: Robert Leighton Release Date: November 25, 2004 [eBook #14149] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PILOTS OF POMONA***
E-text prepared by Martin Robb
THE PILOTS OF POMONA:
A Story of the Orkney Islands by Robert Leighton.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. IN WHICH I AM LATE FOR SCHOOL. ANDREW DREVER'S SCHOOL A HALF HOLIDAY. SANDY ERICSON, PILOT. THE HEN HARRIER. "BETTER GEAR THAN RATS." WHAT THE SHINGLE REVEALED. DIVIDING THE SPOIL. CAPTAIN GORDON. THE DOMINIE EXPLAINS.
CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIV. CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XIX. CHAPTER XX. CHAPTER XXI. CHAPTER XXII. CHAPTER XXIII. CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXV. CHAPTER XXVI. CHAPTER XXVII. CHAPTER XXVIII. CHAPTER XXIX. CHAPTER XXX. CHAPTER XXXI. CHAPTER XXXII. CHAPTER XXXIII. CHAPTER XXXIV. CHAPTER XXXV. CHAPTER XXXVI. CHAPTER XXXVII. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CHAPTER XXXIX. CHAPTER XL. CHAPTER XLI. CHAPTER XLII. CHAPTER XLIII. NOTES.
MY SISTER JESSIE. A ...

Informations

• Publié par: mushong
• Publié le: 01 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 36
• Langue: English

Extrait

T H E P R O J E C T G U T E N B E R G
E B O O K , T H E P I L O T S O F
P O M O N A , B Y R O B E R T
L E I G H T O N
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Pilots of Pomona
Author: Robert Leighton
Release Date: November 25, 2004 [eBook #14149]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
PILOTS OF POMONA***

E-text prepared by Martin Robb


T H E P I L O T S O F P O M O N A :
A S t o r y o f t h e O r k n e y I s l a n d s
b y
R o b e r t L e i g h t o n .


C O N T E N T S .
CHAPTER I. IN WHICH I AM LATE FOR SCHOOL. CHAPTER II. ANDREW DREVER'S SCHOOL
CHAPTER III. A HALF HOLIDAY.
CHAPTER IV. SANDY ERICSON, PILOT.
CHAPTER V. THE HEN HARRIER.
CHAPTER VI. "BETTER GEAR THAN RATS."
CHAPTER VII. WHAT THE SHINGLE REVEALED.
CHAPTER VIII. DIVIDING THE SPOIL.
CHAPTER IX. CAPTAIN GORDON.
CHAPTER X. THE DOMINIE EXPLAINS.
CHAPTER XI. MY SISTER JESSIE.
CHAPTER XII. A TRAGEDY AND A TRANSPORTATION.
CHAPTER XIII. IN WHICH I RECEIVE A PRESENT.
CHAPTER XIV. THORA.
CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH THE VIKING'S AMULET IS PROVED.
CHAPTER XVI. WHEREIN I GO A-FISHING.
CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE GOLDEN RULE WAS KEPT.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE WRECK OF THE " U N D I N E."
CHAPTER XIX. TOM KINLAY'S BARGAIN.
CHAPTER XX. THE OPPOSITION BOAT.
CHAPTER XXI. THE RESCUE.
CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THE ACCIDENT.
CHAPTER XXIII. GRAY'S INN.
CHAPTER XXIV. CARVER KINLAY'S SUCCESS.
CHAPTER XXV. A FAMILY REMOVAL.
CHAPTER XXVI. A SUBTERRANEAN ADVENTURE.
CHAPTER XXVII. A FAMILY MISFORTUNE.
CHAPTER XXVIII. CAPTAIN FLETT OF THE "FALCON."
CHAPTER XXIX. IN WHICH THE "FALCON" SETS SAIL.
CHAPTER XXX. AN ORCADIAN VOYAGE.
CHAPTER XXXI. AN ARCTIC WAIF.
CHAPTER XXXII. THE LAST OF THE " P I L G R I M."
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LIGHT IN THE GAULTON CAVE.
CHAPTER XXXIV. COLIN LOTHIAN MAKES AN ACCUSATION.
CHAPTER XXXV. A SEARCH AND A DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER XXXVI. TRAPPED IN THE CAVE.
CHAPTER XXXVII. IN WHICH I AM PUT UNDER ARREST.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. ACCUSED OF MURDER.
CHAPTER XXXIX. AN UNPROFESSIONAL INQUIRY.
CHAPTER XL. EPHRAIM QUENDALE.
CHAPTER XLI. THE LAST OF THE KINLAYS.
CHAPTER XLII. A CHOICE AMONG THREE.
CHAPTER XLIII. THORA'S ANSWER.
NOTES.


C h a p .t e Irn I W h i c h I A m L a t e F o r S c h o o l .On a certain bright morning in the month of May, 1843, the little port
of Stromness wore an aspect of unwonted commotion. The great
whaling fleet that every year sailed from this place for the Greenland
fisheries was busily preparing for sea. The sun was shining over the
brown hills of Orphir, and casting a golden sheen over the calm bay. Out
beyond the Holms the whaling ships lay at anchor, the Blue Peter flying
at each forepeak, and between them and the town many boats were
passing to and fro.
I remember the day, not so much in connection with the whaling
ships themselves as by the fact that their sailing fixes upon my memory
the date of other more personal events which I am about to set forth in
the following pages. Indeed, I was altogether unaffected by the departure
of the ships. As I sat on the edge of one of the tiny stone piers that
support the old houses along the shoreline, my bare feet dangling above
the clear green water, I thought only of my fishing line and of the row of
bright-scaled sillocks that lay on a stone at my side, being quite
unmindful that the school bell had long since begun to ring.
A small boat passed within a few yards of the jetty, rowed by Tom
Kinlay, one of my schoolfellows.
"Now, then, Ericson," he cried out as he saw me; "d'ye not hear the
bell? Hurry up, lad, or you'll be late again. Aha! I'll tell the dominie that
you're sitting there fishing when you should be at the school. Come
away now, or ye'll get your licks."
Without seeming to hear his warning, I drew in my line with a good
young coal fish at the end of it, and quietly counted my catch. There
were just three-and-twenty fish, and I could not resist the temptation of
making up the even two dozen; so I baited my hook again and cast it
into the water, meditating as I did so upon Kinlay's unnecessary
interference.
Now Tom Kinlay, I must tell you, was some twelve months older
than I, and, as I had reason to remember, much taller and stronger. In our
early school days he had exercised a tyranny over me which I even now
recall with feelings partly of indignation against him, and partly of shame
in myself for having so foolishly bent under the yoke of his oppression.
When we went bathing, as we frequently did, out on the further shores
of the bay, he would not scruple to lead us younger lads into the deepest
waters, and, when we were far beyond our depth and almost exhausted,
he would swim behind us and force us under, for the mere cruel
pleasure, I believe, of seeing our struggles and hearing our cries below
the surface. From some fancied sense of duty we allowed ourselves
meekly to serve and obey him. When we went on a cliff-climbing
expedition he would choose to remain in safety up above on the banks
holding the rope, while it was we who were sent down the dangerous
precipice to harry the sea-birds' nests.
I had not yet forgiven Tom for what he had done a few days earlier
than this spring morning. It happened this way:
Four of us had a boat out on the bay, and we sailed about from pointto point, fancying ourselves sailors voyaging on foreign seas. Our
dinghy, we imagined, was a sailing vessel, and the broad bay of
Stromness represented the Atlantic Ocean. The Outer Holm we called
"America," Graemsay Island was "Africa," and the Ness Point was
"Spain," while a small rock that stood far out in the bay was "St.
Helena." Tom Kinlay was, by his own appointment, our skipper; Robbie
Rosson and Willie Hercus were classed able seamen; and my dog, Selta,
and I were called upon to do duty for both passengers and cargo,
curiously enough, sailing with the ship on every voyage.
We had touched at each of these places in turn, and when we were
homeward bound I was landed at an imaginary port in "Spain." The boat
had pushed off, when I called out to the skipper that I would walk home
to Stromness if he would take the ship into port.
I had returned home and was seated at dinner, when I thought of the
dog and looked about for her. But she had not come back; so I went
down to the jetty at the end of the Anchor Close, to see if I could
discover the boat or any of the lads. Standing there I heard the dog's bark
across the water, and what was my consternation to see my pet stranded
like a castaway on "St. Helena"! She was tethered by a rope to the rock,
and could not escape without help. The tide was rising, and the rock
barely visible above the water. In a few minutes my dog would be
drowned. No boat was near at hand, and there was nothing for it but that
I should swim out to the rescue, so I had to strip there on the jetty and
plunge in. The swim was a long one, and I reached the rock only just in
time. The dog had been marooned on that little island, but Tom Kinlay
had fastened up the boat and gone home, caring nothing, and neither of
the other lads dared so far offend him as to attempt to rescue poor Selta
without his permission.
As I sat fishing on the pier, I was thinking of Kinlay's attitude towards
me, and wondering if I should ever be able to hold my own against him
in our outdoor intercourse as easily as I certainly could hold it in our
class at school. But soon I was interrupted by feeling another twitch at
my line. I hauled in another sillock; and having now completed my two
dozen fish, I gathered them and my lines together, thrust my fishhooks
into my trousers' pocket, and went off to school, only staying a few
minutes on the way to give the fish to my sister Jessie, and get my slate
and books in exchange.
C h a p t. e Ar nI dI r e w D r e v e r ' s S c h o o l
Our schoolhouse was situated on the braeside above the main street of
Stromness. It was a plain stone building with crow-step gables and a
slated roof; and the only indication of its purpose was a large board over
the door, upon which Andrew Drever had himself imprinted the word
"SCHOOL" in bold black letters on a white ground.
The morning's lessons were already well advanced, as I could hear by
the hum of voices as I approached. Even Peter, the jackdaw, in his
wicker cage at the open doorway, joined in the clatter of tongues. His
quick eye noticed me hurrying to the school, and he sidled awkwardly
along his perch, put out his long black beak through the bars of his cage,and flapped his wings with unmistakable signs of welcome.
I was very late; so late that I half dreaded going into the school; and to
discover if possible what humour the schoolmaster was in, I peeped
through