Part 6 (1/2)

CHAPTER V

SWEETHEART ABBEY

Soon after their arrival Whitney and Andrew drove back to the boat, which was moored in the mouth of a stream at some distance from Appleyard. It was a bright morning and they sat smoking in the c.o.c.kpit when they had shaken some of the canvas and laid their sea clothes and blankets out to dry.

Behind the white beach, a strip of marish heath led back to the broad belt of cultivated land, with neat farmsteads scattered about; in front, the narrow channel, in which the shallow-bodied boat lay nearly upright, wound seaward through a great stretch of sand. The open sea was not visible, but three or four miles away a glistening streak that seemed to be in motion caught the light. In the middle distance a green lagoon and two ribands of water were rapidly widening. Flocks of black and white oyster-catchers fluttered about the banks of the channels, and long rows of salmon nets ran back along the sh.o.r.e.

”This is a curious place to navigate,” Whitney remarked. ”You were right in insisting on shallow draught and a centerboard.”

”The shoals are not the worst,” Andrew replied. ”The tide runs up these gutters very fast, and, as a rule, you can't take out an anchor if you get aground.”

”But that's the first thing one generally does.”

”It's dangerous here. If the anchor held until she floated on the flood tide, the strain on the cable would probably pull her down. If it didn't hold, which is much more likely, it would check her while she drove across the bank, sheering athwart the stream, in danger of rolling over. The safest plan is to keep all sail set and try to make for deep water as soon as she floats.”

Whitney glanced at the nearest channel. A small white ridge, perhaps six inches high, stretched from bank to bank, moving forward about as fast as one could walk, and as the wave pa.s.sed on the riband of water changed into a lake. He thought it would not be pleasant to meet the advancing tide at some distance from the land.

On looking round, Whitney saw a man walking toward them across the bank. The fellow was old and his brown face was deeply lined. He wore a yellow oilskin cap, an old blue jersey, and rubber waders that reached to his thighs. Clambering on board, he nodded to Andrew.

”Weel,” he said, ”I'm glad to see ye back, an' it's a bonny wee boat ye have got.”

”She's not bad for work among the shoals, but she's not the best type for the long seas you get in open water,” Andrew replied, and turned to Whitney. ”You might bring up the bottle in the port locker, Jim, and the soda.”

”Ye can let the sodda bide; I've nae use for't.” When Whitney returned the fisherman filled his gla.s.s. ”Here's til ye an' her! Ye have given her a right name,” he said.

”Why's the name good? What does _Rowan_ mean?” asked Whitney.

”The mountain-ash. The old mosstroopers sometimes wore a spray in their steel caps as a protection against witchcraft and bad luck.

We're descendants of the Norse pirates, and the ash was the Scandinavians' sacred Ysdragil, the tree of life.”

”You're a curious lot,” Whitney remarked. ”I guess our beachcombers don't know much about archaeology: they don't have superst.i.tions a thousand years old.”

”Were ye thinking o' making a trip to the deep water doon wast?” the Scotsman inquired.

”I don't know yet. We might do some shooting here. Is there much fowl about?”

”Ye'll get sh.e.l.lduck noo, an' a few teal; whaups, too, if ye're wanting them, but the lag-geese an' the bernicle are no' here yet.” He paused and added: ”I wouldna' say but it might be better if ye bide until they come.”

Andrew looked hard at him.

”Why?”

”I'm thinking ye're wanted here. It would be an ill thing to see Appleyard gang doon, and it might be yours some day.”

”It's my cousin's and he's younger than I am,” Andrew answered with a frown.

”Just that! Ye're leal, we ken. Weel, as ye're fond o' the young laird, it might be wiser to keep an eye on him. He's overmuch under yon foreigner's thumb.”