se on the ship.

The meaning of this was understood too late, for before the vessel
could turn she was driven swiftly upon the North Gaulton rocks, and
there smashed like a bottle of glass.

Then the sail of the Curlew was lowered, and the boat taken as
close as possible to the wrecked ship. The cries of the people on
board were heard in the tempest, but there was little hope of
saving life. Yet the pilot crew were undaunted by any risks. Four
of the men were at the oars; Mansie was at the bow with his flaming
torch, and my father at the tiller. They got within hail of the
ship, and after an infinite amount of trouble succeeded in saving
four precious lives. These four persons were a seaman, a gentleman
passenger--who was picked up suffering from a wound he had received
in the head when the vessel struck--Mrs. Kinlay, and my
schoolfellow, Tom Kinlay.

When they were brought into the boat, Mrs. Kinlay entreated my
father not to leave the wreck until he had saved her husband and
her infant girl. But after much searching of the water the chance
of saving any more lives was so small, and the danger to the Curlew
so great, that the boat was brought to the beach at Inganess Geo,
where its suffering passengers were landed and carried up to the
neighbouring farm of Crua Breck.

The Curlew was then taken back to the wrecked barque. One of the
ship's boats had been launched by the skipper and some of the crew,
who had endeavoured to save all they could; but the little craft
was too frail to stand against the heavy sea; it was dashed against
the sunken rocks and all were drowned. My father and his men
remained by the vessel until daylight. Among the jagged rocks, when
the tide went down, they found the body of a very beautiful woman
with the shattered body of a child still clasped in her arms. The
infant seemed to have been hurriedly taken from its bed. This fair
lady was afterwards recognised as the wife of the owner of the
ill-fated vessel--the gentleman my father had rescued--who had
been returning with her and their infant daughter to Denmark. The
lady's name was Thora Quendale, and it was her tomb that I had seen
in the old graveyard of Bigging on that evening when we shared the
viking's treasures.

Her husband had remained in Orkney only until he had laid her and
the child to rest, when, gathering the few remnants of his property
that remained to him from the wreck of his ship, he took a passage
in a vessel that happ