A Stranger Came Ashore (2 page)

It was to other shipwrecks at other times on the island that the talk had now turned, and after a while of this, Peter rose to take down a violin that was hanging on the wall.

“We’re great folk to play the fiddle here, as maybe you’ve heard tell,” he said to Finn Learson. “Indeed, there’s hardly a house in these islands without a fiddle in it, and hardly a family without someone who can knock out a tune. But there’s one tune we never play, except to mourn the death of one of our fisher lads. And so it’s fitting now, it seems to me, that I should play it for your dead mates.”

Tucking his fiddle under his chin then, Peter played the mourning song of the Shetland fishermen, and the rest of the family listened to it with tears not far away; for nothing can sing sweeter than a violin, and no music could have been sadder than this lament for drowned men. There was no telling what Finn Learson thought of it, however, for he sat with one hand over his face all the time Peter was playing, and everyone had too much respect for his feelings to guess what expression he might be hiding.

Old Da was ready with the right words, nevertheless, once the music was finished and Peter was hanging the fiddle back in its place.

“That was well done, Peter,” said he. “The souls of those poor fellows will rest easier for it; and as for their bodies, we will give them decent burial when the time comes.”

Finn Learson looked up at these words. “How will you do that?” he asked curiously, and Old Da explained, “Well, the bodies will
drift ashore sooner or later, and then we’ll bury them just above high-water mark at the place where they’re found. For it’s our custom, you know, never to take far from the sea anything the sea has claimed for its own.”

“A wise custom,” said Finn Learson, and smiled again, in the way that Robbie found rather odd. Then, with a glance at all the various bits of farming gear in the room, he asked, “But you are farmers too, as well as fishermen, are you not?”

“You could say that, I suppose,” Peter agreed. “Everybody here has the wee bit of land we call a ‘croft’, and between that and the fishing, we manage to make
some
sort of a living.”

“Ach, Peter,” Janet protested. “It’s not such a bad living as all that!”

“No indeed. It’s not all hard work for us here,” Old Da assured Finn Learson. And with this to start it off, the talk was soon flowing with stories of life on the islands, for the but end was now all set for this kind of talk.

The fire was red and cheerful. The only other light in the room was the gentle glow from a little lamp filled with fish oil – a “kollie,” as it was called. Moreover, the hour was just right for storytelling, and Finn Learson was always ready with a question of the kind that would start yet another story.

So the time ran on that night without any of the Hendersons realising how neatly all these questions were putting a stop to the ones they might have been asking him. The grandfather clock in the but end chimed midnight. Everyone suddenly realised how late it was; and with her eyes on the clock, Janet reminded them, “We have an early rise tomorrow.”

The rest of the family knew what she meant by this, for those were hard times when the salvage off a wreck was precious, and they would all have to be down at the voe to get what they could from the
Bergen
. They took the hint to rise, therefore, and Janet waved Finn Learson towards the wooden settle standing against
one wall of the room.

“You can take that blanket I gave you and sleep there, on the restin’ chair,” said she, and then steered Elspeth ahead of her into the ben room.

Old Da followed in a minute or so. Robbie and Peter stayed to bank down the fire for the night and to put out the kollie; and it was then, with his fingers reaching up to close on the wick of the kollie, that Robbie noticed Tam creeping back to his usual place by the fire.

“You’ll not mind old Tam, will you?” he asked. “He’s not fierce, really – just a bit upset by everything tonight.”

Finn Learson stretched out on the restin’ chair and pulled the blanket close around himself. One eye gleamed at Robbie over the edge of this blanket – a bright, and somehow very watchful eye. A voice came, muffled by the blanket’s folds.

“Off you go, lad,” said the voice. “I’ll know how to calm your dog if it snarls again.”

Still Robbie hesitated, for there was something he did not like about the tone of the muffled voice. His father only laughed at it, however, and reached over Robbie’s head to snuff out the kollie.

“Aye, surely,” he agreed as he did this. Then, with a goodnight to Finn Learson from both him and Robbie, they too went ben to their beds.

They were proper old-fashioned Shetland beds, these, made like a large box complete with a lid on top and a sliding door in one side. There were air-holes in the sliding doors, neatly pierced in the shape of hearts and diamonds; the box-beds themselves stood on legs that raised them above draughts, and there were three of them in the room – one for Peter and Janet, one for Elspeth, and one that Robbie shared with Old Da.

Robbie was dead tired by this time, and he lost not a moment in getting in beside Old Da. Almost instantly then, he was asleep, for the bed was comfortable and Old Da had warmed it for him. But
just as suddenly, it seemed to him, he was awake again, wondering how long he had slept and what had happened to wake him.

There was no sound or movement in the ben room, he realised. But there
was
a sound coming from somewhere – the sound of a fiddle very softly played and near at hand – and for several startled moments he lay wondering who on earth could be playing the fiddle at that hour of the night.

Robbie’s surprise was soon over, however, and it was uneasiness that gripped him then; for by the end of those first few moments he had realised that the music was coming from the but end of the house where his father’s fiddle hung. And yet his father was lying asleep in the box-bed a few feet away from his own! The sliding door of this bed was open, and he could see his father there – which meant that the only person who could be playing the fiddle was the stranger, Finn Learson. And why should he be doing that at such an hour?

Moreover, Robbie thought, there was something very odd about the music itself, something very eerie and mysterious, for there was no tune to it – or nothing he could recognise as a tune, at least. It was just like voices sliding up and down a scale, in fact; high voices, echoing very sad and sweet in some hollow place, and in spite of the warmth of the bed, the sound they made was beginning to send shivers up and down his back.

Crouching lower into the warmth, Robbie tried not to hear the voices; but he was curious about them, as well as uneasy. Besides which, he told himself, Finn Learson had no
right
to be playing his Da’s fiddle, and he had a good mind to say so to his very face! This was the very thought to give his curiosity the spur it needed, and gaining courage from it, he slipped cautiously out of bed.

A draught of cold air blew around his bare legs. The floor of the ben room was cold too, for it was only beaten earth, hard-packed and polished from the use of many years. With his toes curling away from the feel of this floor, Robbie padded to the door of the
ben room. For a moment he stood there, shivering as much from the cold now as from uneasiness. Then, carefully, he advanced a hand to the door knob.

The noise of Tam growling began to sound through the music; and instantly on this, it stopped. Tam’s growls grew louder, then began to die again; and tightening his grasp on the knob, Robbie pulled the door open far enough to allow him to see into the but end.

It was a roomful of strange shapes and shadows that met his eye, for the fire was still sending out a red glow that lit some things and left others in darkness. Even so, he saw that his father’s fiddle was gone from its usual place on the wall, and there was no form stretched out under the blanket on the restin’ chair. The fiddle now lay on top of this blanket, as if Finn Learson had hurriedly placed it there; and Finn Learson himself was kneeling on one knee in front of the fire, with Tam crouching in front of him.

The dog’s back was towards Robbie, but both dog and man were lit by the fire’s glow, and Robbie saw that Finn Learson had his hands cupped lightly around Tam’s head. His eyes were fixed on Tam’s eyes, and it seemed to Robbie that he was commanding Tam to silence with this stare.

It struck Robbie, too, that Tam was afraid of the look holding him there as well as fascinated by it, for the dog was shivering all over its body. Lower and lower it crouched, its eyes never leaving Finn Learson’s eyes, its growl fading with every second of the look; until finally, it was altogether silent.

Finn Learson drew his hands away from its head, and in that moment he looked up, straight into Robbie’s eyes. The firelight fell on his face, making a gleaming red mask of it in the surrounding dusk. His great dark eyes seemed bigger and darker than ever in that red mask, and the effect of all this sent a stab of fear through Robbie.

Everything he had meant to say fled from his mind then, and all
he could think of was getting back to his safe, warm bed. Stepping backwards he began gently to close the door and as he did so, Finn Learson rose to his feet. Robbie’s heart quickened its beat still further, but he continued with his gentle closing of the door; and the last thing he saw in the last inch of its closing was Tam, still staring up in fascination at the man in front of him.

Quickly and silently then, Robbie dashed for his bed, and creeping into it, he lay wondering about everything that had happened. It was very late at night by this time, however, and he was still tired. Also, it was very cosy, lying there in the warmth beside Old Da. Robbie soon found he was too drowsy to think properly; and promising himself he would work out all the whys and wherefores of it in the morning, he drifted off to sleep again.

The storm had not quite blown itself out by the time morning came, and the Hendersons woke to find that Old Da had been right in thinking the
Bergen
had foundered. There was plenty of wreckage from it, however, and this was already drawing people down from all the other houses on the hill overlooking the voe.

“Come on!” urged Janet, giving everyone breakfast on the run; but Robbie had something more than wreckage to think about at that moment, for strange events that happen in the middle of the night have a way of seeming as far off and unreal as a dream the next day, and this was how things were for him then.

He stared around the but end, wondering if he had indeed dreamt the events of the night before; for there was his father's fiddle hanging in its usual place, and there was Tam dozing peacefully as usual in front of the fire. There was Finn Learson too, looking like any other young man supping porridge along with everyone else, and not giving a single hint or sign that he had ever moved from his night's sleep on the restin' chair.

Robbie swallowed down his own porridge, telling himself that he
must
have dreamt about the strange music and the look that had commanded Tam to silence. It was impossible to imagine otherwise, in fact, with everything now so much as usual and daylight making the but end itself seem such an ordinary place!

The need to make haste in starting the salvage work began to take a grip on him also, so that even the “dream” grew fainter in his mind. Then came something else which drove it still further away. A voice called from outside the house, the familiar and very cheerful voice of
Elspeth's young man, Nicol Anderson; and Nicol, as it happened, was also Robbie's very good friend.

Robbie rushed to let him into the but end, and then the place seemed crowded, for Nicol was a big fellow – as big and powerful a man as Finn Learson, in fact. Moreover, he had gleaming red hair that gave him the look of a big, smiling sun when he laughed, and which also drew even more attention to his height.

“Who's ready to come down to the voe, then?” he asked, after all the explanations about Finn Learson had been made; and instantly, Robbie was on his feet.

“I am!” said he. Then off he hurried to the voe with Nicol, firmly putting even the memory of his strange “dream” from his mind, and never thinking he was making the great mistake of his young life in doing so.

Robbie was in good company with this, however, for everyone in Black Ness made mistakes that morning; and naturally enough, these were the same ones that the Henderson family had already made about Finn Learson.

No one doubted for a moment that he was indeed a survivor of the wreck, and so there was nothing but sympathy for him. No one asked him any more questions than had already been asked – there was no time for this, since the wreckage was so widely scattered over the voe that everyone was anxious to get it ashore before it could drift even further. Moreover, Finn Learson immediately offered his help in this work; and since Nicol Anderson was the only man there who equalled him in size and strength, this offer was eagerly accepted.

So, for hours after that, the work went on, with Finn Learson bending his back so willingly to it that there was even greater sympathy for him when the tide eventually brought the bodies of the
Bergen's
crew washing ashore.

Old Da Henderson was as good as his word, however, and the bodies were buried just above high-water mark at the point where
they were found. A stone was placed to mark each grave, a hymn was sung, and Old Da spoke a prayer.

“Amen,” said everyone at the end of this. And that
Amen
was the final word on the wreck of the
Bergen
; for, the way they all saw it then, it was bad enough for a young fellow like Finn Learson to lose all his mates in one night without folk asking questions that would only remind him of this loss.

There was still the question of what he would do next, however; and so, after supper that night, Peter began, “And what are your plans now, lad? Are you thinking of going back to your own country?”

“No,” said Finn Learson, taking a sideways glance at the fiddle on the wall. “I'm in no hurry to do that.”

“Then what will you do?” Peter asked. “Will you take ship for another voyage?”

“Indeed, no!” Finn Learson told him. “It's the land for me for a while.”

“And no one could blame you for that!” Peter agreed. “Which means you'll be here for a few days yet, I suppose – and welcome, I'm sure, if you do not mind our sort of life.”

“Far from that,” Finn Learson assured him. “I think it must be a fine life! A few weeks of it, in fact – or even a few months – would be nearer what I have in mind.”

Now the Hendersons were hospitable people, but they were also much too poor to be burdened for months with a pair of idle hands and an idle mouth to feed. Yet where was Finn Learson to live if he stayed for months on the island, unless it was with them? None of them had the answer to this question, but Finn Learson guessed the meaning of their silence, and quickly he added, “But I would not expect to stay here for nothing, of course!” With his hand reaching into the pouch of his canvas moneybelt as he said this, he pulled out a coin and laid it on the table; but this only left the Hendersons even more lost for words, for the coin was a large
one and it was made of gold.

It was also an old coin, so old that the pattern had been rubbed almost smooth; and as they stared in wonder at it, Finn Learson asked anxiously, “Is that not enough?”

“Enough!” Janet exclaimed. “It's a fortune, man! But where in the world did you get so ancient a coin?”

“Off a sunken treasure ship!” guessed Robbie, thinking that this must certainly be the answer; but his father frowned, and told him, “You talk an awful lot of nonsense, boy.”

“I don't know about that,” Old Da objected. “I remember, when I was a young man I saw a coin washed ashore from a Spanish treasure ship that was wrecked in ancient times on this island. A piece of eight, they called it, and it looked exactly like this one.”

“I don't doubt you,” Peter remarked. “But you know what Robbie is like! He was letting his fancy run away with a whole shipload of treasure, instead of the odd piece a sailor man might pick up on his travels – which is where this one came from I'll wager!”

Finn Learson smiled at this – the same, rather odd little smile Robbie had noticed the night before. “Yes, of course,” he agreed. “It
is
just something I picked up on my travels. And since I have no coins in my belt of the kind you use, it is all I can offer you.”

“But we cannot take it,” Janet declared, “for gold does not lose its value however old the coins that are made from it. And this one is worth more than it would cost to keep you, supposing you stayed for a year with us.”

Finn Learson began to speak again, but Peter checked him.

“Wait,” said he. “Let me tell you this. There is no money to be made from fishing in the voe, and none either from working a croft. And so, all the men like myself have to go off every summer to earn money at the deep-sea fishing – the
haaf
, as we call it. But before we can do that, there is all the spring work of the croft to be tackled – digging, planting, sowing, cutting peats–”

“I can see what's in your mind!” Old Da interrupted, and then
turned ruefully to Finn Learson. “I'm getting too old to share such hard work,” he went on, “and Robbie is still too young to give a man's help on the croft. Yet there are only six weeks left now before Peter goes off to the
haaf
, and if he does not manage to get the crops in before then, how will we all eat next winter?”

“But if you were willing to help me with that work,” Peter finished, “it would be worth more to us than the cost of your stay here, and it would give you a real chance to try our kind of life. So, what do you say, Finn Learson?”

“I say ‘Done!'” Finn Learson exclaimed. “But you must still have the gold, for it may still cost you more than you think to have me here.”

“Nonsense!” Peter and Janet protested together, and Peter began sliding the coin across the table to Finn Learson. Yet still he would not allow this.

“If you will not take it in payment,” said he, “take it at least as a keepsake of me when I have gone back to my own country.”

Firmly he pushed the coin back across the table. Then, with a glance at Elspeth, he added, “There! When you look at that, you'll remember it did not seem half so bright to me as the gold of your daughter's hair.”

Elspeth blushed scarlet at this, but the others laughed at such a compliment.

“Would you not like Nicol to say fine things like that?” Robbie teased her; and Peter told Finn Learson, “Well, we can hardly refuse it on
those
terms!”

And so it was settled. Elspeth stood the coin on its edge like an ornament on the mantelpiece; and there it stayed, its smooth surface glittering in the light of the kollie. Janet made up a proper bed for Finn Learson in the barn that was built on to the gable wall of the but end; and he also stayed, to help Peter with all the work that had to be done before the
haaf
.