Island of Wings (9 page)

The party crossed the island, following a ridge which spined from the east to the west. As they walked they could see the Atlantic on all sides. Its oily surface stretched and stretched in all directions until it poured over the horizon into another space. On the north-east side of the ridge was a grassy heath which went by the Norse name of Sunadal – a most appropriate name on this morning when the sun warmed the valley and lit up the sheep like lamps, one after the other, as it moved across the steep slopes. After some more walking the party stopped to examine a curious old structure on their left. If it had not been for the natives pointing it out to them, the guests would probably have missed it. It was an ancient dwelling, sunk into the ground and divided internally into a central oval-shaped chamber flanked by smaller compartments, like the petals around the pistil of a flower. The natives called the house
Taigh Stallar
, the Staller or taxman's house, and explained that this was where they would normally stay when they visited the island for longer periods. Supplies of dried food and fuel were stacked neatly in one of the compartments, and some dried bracken remained on the floor in one of the other hollows. The smell was stale as in a cave. No one knew how the dwelling had come into being, the natives claimed, but it was supposed to have housed a recluse at one point in the history of the island.

When they reached the north-west side of the island the men were faced with a most extraordinary view. Before them was a chasm in the rock at its most elevated point. The square gap formed an immense chimney, and George exclaimed that it was without exception the most sublime sight he had ever seen. He knew that he would never find the right words to explain its full splendour to anyone. The sea which sighed deep under the rocks would frequently sneeze and a puff of air would rise through the chimney. From this point they could watch the nesting gannets that covered the rocks and nearby stacks. Stac an Armin lay close and threatening to the north. From a distance it looked as if the cliffs were of a white mineral substance, but on closer examination you could make out that it was the gannets themselves which coloured the rock as they covered every square inch of the precipice. In some cases they seemed to be sitting on top of each other, and the noise that rose from their million throats was so loud that the fowling party had to shout to each other to make themselves understood.

At this point the two St Kildans who had first jumped ashore on Boreray started to uncoil a thick rope about eight fathoms long. Made of horsehair, the rope had been clad in many places in sheepskin to prevent it from wearing against the rock. One of the natives wound the rope around his waist just under his arms and another one took it over his shoulder and under his arm and positioned himself with his feet braced against a boulder in order to carry the weight of his comrade. His companion went to the edge and then walked backwards over the cliff, descending with his body extending horizontally from the vertical rock face and with his back towards the sea which was breaking far below. George and Dick both threw themselves flat on their stomachs and looked over the edge of the rock. The climber was jumping lightly between the grassy ledges on which the gannets nested, his feet seeming barely to touch the rock in a manner which made him resemble an insect skimming the still waters of a pond. As he landed on a new ledge the climber would chase some of the birds away and quickly reach out to secure their eggs, which he put in a straw basket that was tied to the rope. In this manner he managed to fill the basket in less than ten minutes. He then started his ascent, agile as an ape, and aided by his friend he soon was back at the top of the cliff.

The Atkinson brothers were much impressed by this competence. ‘Why did he not catch some of the birds – they seemed to be within easy reach?' asked Dick.

‘They are leaving the adult birds to hatch the remaining eggs in order to ensure the harvest of
gugas
, the young gannets which they consider to be a delicacy, in August and September. The adult birds are generally killed earlier in the season and dried or salted in barrels for the winter,' the minister explained.

‘They tend to harvest the fulmar and guillemots in May,' he continued. ‘We will probably be able to see this on our way back to Hirta this afternoon.'

George was busy taking notes of all that he observed. He was hoping that his experiences would result in him being asked to read a paper to the Natural History Society of Northumbria. Mr Bewick would probably be impressed by some of his ornithological observations. Perhaps in the future his writings would even lead to his being elected a fellow of the newly established Linnean Society of London. He wanted his family name to be linked with science and exploration. He greatly admired the men of science who had made their names abroad: Banks, Solander and others who had all been given land and titles as a result of their work.

‘Come on, George, we are leaving.' Dick had to nudge his brother hard in the side to wake him from his daydreaming.

‘What?'

‘They are taking us to see a pair of nesting peregrine falcons!' Dick cried excitedly. He was still young, and some things would make him revert to being the boy who had often roamed the Northumbrian moors around the family estate.

George, who had been enjoying his ambitious dreams, was irritated and followed a few steps behind the others as they set off to find the nesting birds of prey.

However, when they reached the inland cliff where the falcons bred he was the first to display his enthusiasm over the pair of birds who were trying to conceal their four chicks in their nest.

The young cragsmen were as apt at raiding the falcons' nest as they were at collecting the gannets' eggs, and the Atkinsons were soon presented with a young bird each.

The chicks were still covered in white down, but the adult feathers of a steely blue-grey were starting to come through on their backs. They looked very vulnerable, with their disproportionately large feet and blinking eyes. The young St Kildans made a bed of their woollen scarves for them in one of the egg baskets and covered it with a basket lid.

‘Are you sure it is necessary to remove them from the safety and comfort of their home?' asked the minister, who had not realised that the intention was to add the birds to the Atkinsons' collection of specimens.

‘I am sure the parents will rear their two remaining young in a satisfactory manner,' said George, who was still too inexperienced to understand loss but was at least familiar with the nature of birds.

The minister, who had experience in both fields, could think of nothing to say.

As the party returned to the rocks where the boat had dropped them off, the St Kildans began waving and shouting to attract the attention of their kinsmen who were still drifting near Stac Lee. On hearing their calls the boatmen splashed up to the rock and received the party and the baskets of eggs. No one mentioned the two chicks, but their pathetic cries disturbed MacKenzie. He could not help but remember the slimy purple body that he himself had delivered from his unconscious wife just before the old crone who acted as midwife arrived to cut off its lifeline and smear the stump with fulmar oil.

Before returning to Village Bay the boat drew up at the base of Conachair. A couple of teenage boys were working away sixty feet above the surface of the sea. They were both standing on impossibly narrow ledges with long poles that looked much like strong fishing rods, twice the length of a man and with a horsehair noose at the end. George soon saw that they used the rods to fish for birds, pushing the noose over the heads of the unsuspecting, silly-looking guillemots. Sometimes the fowlers could catch two or more birds in one swoop. George could not help but laugh when the birds looked quite puzzled as their relatives disappeared around them, but few made any more active endeavour at escape than to move their head from side to side in order to avoid the pole, although some tried to push away the advancing noose with their bills. However, as their numbers dwindled, a few of them started to show signs of distrust and apprehension. Some of them took the trouble to shuffle away to the furthest extremity of the shelf and one or two even quit it altogether. The two boys had already gathered a large quantity of dead birds, which they had stuffed into nooks and crannies in the rock in anticipation of the boat. Now they started to throw the birds into the boat and the three passengers soon found themselves quite inundated by carcasses. The boat sat heavy in the sea as the six oarsmen started their laborious journey back towards Village Bay. The sun was still high in the west, but the light had changed and heralded the coming of another white night. One of the crew started to sing, his voice high and clear. He chanted a verse and the other men would answer in unison, thus establishing the rhythm of the oars.

‘What are they singing?' asked Dick, who liked the sound.

‘It's an
iorram
,'
answered the minister. ‘It's a rowing song but I have also heard the women sing it while waulking the tweed
.
' He was quiet for a while and listened, then translated for the benefit of the two brothers:

My love, the hunter of the birds,

Earliest home across the wild channel;

And O, the ocean chant-man;

And O, the beautiful;

And O, the ocean chant-man.

I'd make white tweed for you,

Woollen thread as thick as rope;

My love, the mariner of the deep.

They were all quiet now and listened as the
iorram
brought the boat into harbour, the oars dipping miraculously in unison.

Lizzie heard the song of the returning boat. She had already set the table. She had picked sorrel to flavour the bird meat and had put some wild flowers in a vase on the table. They had no more wine, but she had blended some dandelion and primrose in the cold water that she had just drawn from the well. She prayed they would notice that she had made an effort. She hoped they would notice.

As they sat down to tea the men were exhausted and slightly bleached by the sun, the sea and the wind. They did not talk much but answered politely as Lizzie asked about the nature of their day. She would have liked to say something amusing or clever even, if only to bring the conversation out of the men and into the room, but she could not think of anything, and the meal, she had to admit, was rather dull.

As the Atkinsons lay in bed an hour later they
did
grumble confidentially to each other regarding the somewhat indifferent fare and fell asleep while the peregrine chicks died in their cage by the window.

The following morning a deputation of natives visited the manse to say that in return for more tobacco they would be happy to take the two
Sassenachs
to the Thumb Rock to see their climbing skills. It was also made clear that the gift of tobacco the previous day had been deemed too small and that the St Kildans were quite dissatisfied. George and Dick, determined to make it understood how much they intended to give, showed their remaining tobacco supply. The natives shook their heads and said it was too little, thinking perhaps that there was a hidden store in the gentlemen's bags. The bartering went on for a little while until George produced a bottle of whisky and served a glass apiece. This immediately changed the situation, and the natives became most obedient and generous for the rest of the day.

The rock that they called Stac Biorach, or the Thumb Rock, was the most awe-inspiring and inaccessible stack in the archipelago. It was the ultimate test for any cragsman, and those who had managed to climb it were held in reverence within the community. It had taken its name from the fact that at no point would the climber find a grip larger than a thumb. Situated in the narrow sound between Hirta and Soay, the island in the north-west, it was flanked by a most impressive archway. Stac Biorach and the nearby cliffs of Soay could easily have been mistaken for the clashing rocks through which the bravest heroes of antiquity had once sailed.

As the boat drew near, the Atkinsons could tell that the cragsmen were losing heart. The minister felt it too, but he assured his friends that the St Kildans might be cunning and tricky barterers but they always kept their word. For a while the boat drifted at the base of the pinnacle as the natives folded their arms and chafed their bare feet against the deck boards. One man attempted to light his pipe. Dick had almost started to hope that nobody would risk the dangerous ascent when a fine, strong lad jumped up and said that it should never be said by strangers that they were inferior to their fathers in skill and courage, and that if anyone would accompany him he would lead the way. Another lad joined him. The minister named the boys as the cousins Donald and Finlay MacDonald. Donald quickly tied a rope around his waist and managed to jump on to the rock. Twice he lost his foothold and fell into the sea, but he was quickly hauled into the boat only to try to establish himself on the rock again. As soon as he was secure he called for Finlay to attach himself to the other end of the rope and helped him on to the rock. The two boys then started the ascent in the most remarkable way. Their bare hands and feet frisked the granite as their agile young bodies snaked their way towards the summit. Every now and again they would get hold of a guillemot in their way, break its neck and throw it down into the boat to the cheering of the crew. When they reached the top the boys were flushed with adrenalin and their broad smiles betrayed their pride. Finlay shouted down to his kinsmen to leave them up there on the stack for a couple of hours to kill some guillemots – Donald was courting a girl called Marion and he wanted to bring her the fattest rock-bird from Stac Biorach as a love token.

The group in the boat was getting weary in the swell and was only too happy to set off for nearby Soay. They soon landed on the south-east side, facing Hirta. Soay was not as steep as the other islands in the archipelago and hundreds of archaic-looking sheep grazed its grassy slopes. The three gentlemen set off on their own to explore the island, while the natives lit their pipes with the new supply of tobacco. They seemed hugely content and the two brothers could not help but suspect that the men were overly pleased with their bartering. On the east side of the island MacKenzie and the Atkinsons found a large colony of puffins which had burrowed themselves into the grassy slope or the occasional natural holes and crannies in the rock.