‘Aye, but me and you will have tae have a word aboot that,’ said Hoynes.
McMurdo’s phone rang. He picked it up quickly, anxious for news. Kinloch was now bathed in bright winter sunshine, making the snow that had fallen on the town sparkle like a glittering Christmas card.
‘They’re sailing into the loch,’ said Mitchell, the harbour master.
‘Who, Hoynes?’ McMurdo could hardly believe his ears.
‘Aye, plain as day. The lifeboat must have passed them in the snow. For they’ve not seen head nor tail of them since they ventured out earlier. I’m away to bring them back in.’
‘Excellent! Thank you, Mr Mitchell.’ Before he heard a reply, McMurdo slammed the phone back into its cradle and pulled on his overcoat. Soon he was making his way towards the quay, and although he slipped and fell a couple of times, the ache in his knee and loss of pride barely registered, as the vista opened out by the head of the loch.
Sure enough, only a hundred or so yards from the harbour mouth the Girl Maggie could be seen, black smoke issuing from her funnel.
McMurdo came to a halt beside Peeny and McKirdy.
‘I knew fine he would make it,’ said Peeny. ‘The man’s a genius wae navigation and the like.’
‘Aye, through one o’ the worst snow storms in history tae,’ said McKirdy. He looked at Kinloch’s provost, who was now wearing a broad smile under his trilby. ‘You’ll be mighty relieved, I’m thinking, eh?’
‘Of course,’ said McMurdo.
‘Aye, they’d likely have burned you at the stake if she’d been lost at sea.’
‘A tragic thought, but thankfully avoided. Don’t you think you’re being a touch melodramatic, McKirdy?’
‘This is Kinloch. You should know that by now.’ At his side, Peeny nodded his head.
On the pier, a huge cheer broke out from those who had been keeping up a silent vigil for the return of Hoynes and his vessel.
On board the Girl Maggie, Jo had been ordered below, much against her will, it had to be said. Hoynes was more than aware that the presence of a woman on his boat would be seen as the tempting of fate that precipitated near calamity.
He stood in the wheelhouse, ready to bask in the best wishes of his townsfolk. ‘Get down below and make sure young Jo knows what she’s aboot, Hamish,’ said Hoynes.
‘Tell me again, skipper.’
‘We’ll tie up at the pier. While they’re securing the ropes, I’ll engage everyone with tales of our deliverance fae certain disaster.’
‘You’re no’ going tae mention the Viking, are you – nor the gull?’ Hamish blinked at his skipper.
For some reason, as the sky had cleared, so had the fog that clouded Hoynes’ mind. He remembered being utterly convinced that he’d seen and spoken to the Viking. But now it was like a dream. ‘I think we’ll no’ say much aboot that at the moment. Maybe jeest touch on my skills at navigation. As for the gull, well, there’s nothing wrong wae that. He jeest happened to be heading in the same direction as ourselves. The creature likely recognised my determination, hence he took oor lead towards home.’
‘Aye, but he was taking the lead, Sandy.’
‘But I saw him looking back oot the corner o’ his eye tae see where I was at. Clever creatures, they gulls. If I’d steered a degree away, that bird would have altered his course.’
‘If you’d steered away, we’d have been on the rocks at the island, Sandy.’
‘Well, I didna. Now, make sure your wee friend gets kitted oot in a bunnet and dungarees that’ll make her look sufficiently like a cabin boy. When I alight on the pier, I’ll lead everyone up tae the County. No doubt there will be the usual questions and wonder at oor skill in making port in such conditions. When the coast is clear, you and Jo can make a break for it. She’s crafty enough, o’ that there’s no’ much doubt.’
‘And if she’s no’ of a mind tae align wae your thinking, Sandy?’
‘That’s what first mates are for, Hamish. I’ve every faith you’ll use your charm to persuade her that this is the only sensible course o’ action. After all, she’ll have surely taken a fancy to such a well set-up chap like yourself. Fair heroic you are now, intae the bargain.’
As Hoynes watched Hamish head back to the cabin below, he was sure he’d flattered his first mate sufficiently to ensure he’d get the job done.
Expertly he slowed the Girl Maggie to a stop by the pier, and the fleet-footed harbour master jumped aboard with a rope to secure her to the quayside.
High above them in the clear blue sky, a gull circled, one eye cocked with interest on the events unfolding in the harbour below.
25
Hoynes was amidst a gaggle of folk, all interested to hear about his deliverance from the blizzard that should have made navigation – especially without the aid of radio and radar – impossible.
Hoynes stood, his boots planted firmly in the snow, smoke from his pipe billowing over the crowd. ‘Well, you see, after a number of years on the great ocean, a mariner gets a notion – an instinct, if you fancy – aboot jeest where he is in the world. For myself, I think it’s a skill bred intae us seamen, the same as it is wae salmon, pigeons and the like.’
‘A lot o’ pish,’ said McKirdy under his breath.
‘Moreover, when danger beckons, the sea looks after those who looked after it. Mother Nature’s no’ wanting the likes o’ radar and such contraptions upsetting the balance o’ things. It’s all mair a cock o’ the heid here and a sniff o’ the wind there. I’m sure you all know what I mean.’
‘I’m sniffing plenty wind right at the moment,’ whispered Peeny.
‘So, Mr Hoynes, would you say you were guided by the spirits of the sea?’ This from McMahon, the young reporter from the Kinloch Herald whose prominent front teeth always made him look inquisitive.
‘You could say that. Alternatively, you could say that a higher hand guided me through the perils o’ the last few hours o’ great darkness and despair.’
At this point, raised voices could be heard from the Girl Maggie. As Hoynes extolled the virtue of good seamanship in tandem with heavenly intervention, they became more pronounced.
‘Is there a problem on the boat?’ asked McMurdo.
‘Och no, it’s jeest Hamish letting off steam. You know the perilous state o’ young folk these days. All kinds o’ nonsense spinning aboot their heids.’
‘I can hear two voices,’ said McKirdy, a knowing look on his face.
‘Me tae,’ agreed Peeny.
‘He does that sometimes,’ said Hoynes. ‘A hell of a man for the impersonations. He does a great Harold McMillan, though his Andy Stewart could do wae a bit o’ work, right enough.’
As the voices on Hoynes’ vessel became louder, everyone’s attention was now diverted.
‘Let’s leave Hamish tae his nonsense and head up for a cosy dram and a chat in the County. I’m fair gasping for a glass o’ whisky after all these trials and tribulations, no doubt about it.’
At that, a figure emerged through the hatch of the Girl Maggie. At first, with a greasy bunnet pulled down over the face, it looked for all the world like a small boy. But as a hand appeared and grabbed at the boy’s ankle the bunnet was dislodged, revealing a young woman with a fashionably bobbed haircut.
‘Just let me go, Hamish!’ shouted Jo, as a collective gasp issued from those on the pier.
‘Aye,’ said McKirdy. ‘I knew it fine. A woman, plain as day. No wonder you were lost at sea, Sandy Hoynes!’
‘Och, I can explain,’ said Hoynes, as Hamish emerged looking fretful.
‘I’ll explain, if someone will help me off this bloody tub!’ Jo exclaimed.
Willing hands breached the space between the vessel and the pier, gently hauling the young woman in the ill-fitting dungarees up from the Girl Maggie, as Hoynes looked on, a resigned look on his face.
‘I’m a reporter from the Glasgow Times,’ said Jo. ‘Mr Hoynes entered into a bona fide contract with the paper, so that we might co
ver his mercy mission to feed the stranded community here in Kinloch. But he took the money before he realised I was a woman.’
Another gasp from those gathered.
‘I was fair conned intae it. Aye, and Hamish here is by no means without blame,’ Hoynes remonstrated.
‘Hold on, skipper,’ said Hamish. ‘You jeest misunderstood what was happening.’
A woman’s voice piped up, this time from the back of the assembly. ‘You telt me this lassie had a broken leg, Sandy Hoynes!’
‘Mother!’ Hamish wailed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What kind o’ a mother would I be if I didna come to greet my own son, saved from a watery grave? But you’ll wish you were in one if I hear there’s been any shenanigans aboard that vessel.’
‘Shenanigans!’ said Hoynes. ‘I’ll have you know that no such things took place on the Girl Maggie.’
‘Too right,’ said Jo. ‘Hamish is a nice enough man, but he’s not my type.’
‘I telt you he’d missed the boat as far as a wife was concerned,’ said McKirdy.
Hoynes called for order. ‘I’ll admit I was mistaken in taking the young lassie aboard. But, as I say, I was misled.’
‘Tell them how I saved your precious boat,’ said Jo.
‘You jeest get back to your work. You’ll have plenty tae type up, and no mistake,’ said Hoynes, in an effort to silence the reporter.
‘I’ll not be hushed up like some child. The truth is that both Mr Hoynes and Hamish were indisposed. It was up to me in the middle of the night to save the vessel.’
‘Huh! As we thought, the pair of them fair steaming, thinking they had nothing to lose. Shame on you, Sandy Hoynes,’ said Peeny.
‘I’ll have you know I was not drunk. I was rendered insensible by a hallucinogenic!’
This statement silenced everyone present.
‘He thought he was a lobster,’ said Hamish from the deck of the Girl Maggie.
‘I think we’ve heard enough,’ said McMurdo. ‘I’m sure the harbour master will enquire further as to what happened aboard your vessel, Mr Hoynes. It all sounds most irregular to me. I’m quite sure a number of breaches of maritime law have been committed.’
‘Off his heid on the drugs! Aye, the whole town will be a laughing stock when this emerges,’ said McKirdy.
‘Let me explain!’ Hoynes shouted, but to no avail.
In dribs and drabs, the impromptu welcoming committee made their way back to the snowy town, many shaking their heads at the shame of it all.
‘Well, thank you very much,’ said Hoynes to Jo.
‘Stop your grumbling. We’d be at the bottom of the sea – and you know it – had I not tied that wheel to make the boat turn in circles.’
‘And whose fault was that?’
‘You put the sugar lump in your own tea,’ said Jo. ‘Anyway, don’t worry about that. I’ll say in my report that you ate some dodgy shellfish.’
‘No’ lobster, mind,’ said Hamish.
Shaking his head, Hoynes turned on his heel and marched up the pier, only to slip outside the weigh house and collide with a bollard. Despite this setback, he picked himself up, dusted himself down, and was soon lost in the snow-packed trenches that were the streets of Kinloch.
Epilogue
In the days that followed, outrage subsided when Jo Baird’s article appeared in the Glasgow Times. The people of Kinloch read it a day late, the papers and vital supplies having to be brought aboard a MacBrayne’s ferry.
Though Peeny and McKirdy swore that Hoynes was a martyr to narcotics, most settled for Jo’s explanation that he’d been poisoned by shellfish. She was unrepentant as to the role she’d played in saving the vessel, and soon the general feeling was that it was high time the ridiculous superstition that women had no place on boats be crushed once and for all.
After many trials, Hamish succeeded in convincing his mother that nothing untoward had passed between him and the pretty young reporter. Soon, the events of the blizzard melted away with the snow that had isolated the town.
Sandy Hoynes, though, was still troubled. The nagging memory of the Viking who had been their salvation lingered on his mind. But he managed to persuade himself that it had merely been his subconscious dealing with matters in hand while still under the influence.
When Christmas and New Year were past, and strong gales were battering Kinloch, looking for a diversion before the County Hotel opened, Hoynes made his way to the local library.
‘I’m wondering,’ he enquired of Mrs Duncan the librarian. ‘Have you anything on Vikings – particularly any known to have frequented our own coastline?’
‘I can find you some good books on the subject, Mr Hoynes. But, as it happens, I have always had an interest in the Northmen myself. In fact, we had our very own Viking lord. He died at the Battle of Largs, but by all accounts – and one has to take them with a pinch of salt, of course – he was a bit of a character. Had land up near Firdale. Hona was his name, though his nickname was The Serpent. Apparently the prow of his boat was carved into a likeness of the creature. Lovely story, but likely just myth.’ She smiled. ‘In fact, if you give me a moment, I have a wee pamphlet I wrote on the subject. The engraving on the cover was taken from a woodcut found at Edail Abbey. But, like the story, possibly a construction of many years later.’
Hoynes stared at the book, wide-eyed. Though crudely drawn, there was the man who’d pointed his way to salvation in the snow. The sleeked-back flaxen hair, the clothes – everything was as Hoynes remembered. ‘In my opinion, Mrs Duncan, no myth.’ He turned round slowly and walked away. ‘I’ll come back for the books tomorrow.’
Hoynes paused outside the library and stared across the loch, the wind tugging at his pea jacket. ‘More things in heaven and earth, right enough,’ he muttered to himself before shuffling away, quite bemused.
High above the town, where the ramparts of the old hill fort had once stood, sat the gull, the soul of Kinloch. Head to one side, he watched the distant figure of Hoynes as he made his way along the esplanade.
With a loud squawk, he spread his great wings and soon was soaring on the strong wind above the old town, over which he’d watched for so long.
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