“This is amazing,” Ben said to Poppy.
Poppy agreed. “It feels so deserted, though,” she said, pointing to the line of abandoned stone cottages on the hillside in front of them.
“Shall we go and take a look?” asked Ben.
“Mr Rigger says there’s a museum,” said Fee. “He said it shows you what life was like when people still lived here.”
“Let’s explore a bit first and then go and see,” said Poppy.
The museum was in one of the cottages. These had thick stone walls and low ceilings. The windows, which faced the bay below, were small, making the rooms inside dim, even in the full light of the summer afternoon. There were several guardians who lived on the island, looking after the museum and houses and showing visitors around. One of them was sitting in a chair near the door when Poppy and Fee went in with Ben and Rory.
The guardian showed them an album of photographs. The pictures, all black-and-white snaps taken with an old box camera, showed the island families leading their daily lives. There was a picture of the island school – a one-room schoolhouse with a blackboard at one end of the room and a double line of desks. A small number of children – no more than twelve or fifteen – were seated at these desks, staring at the camera. Then there was a picture of a woman cooking on an open fire, stirring the pot while her children looked on.
“They didn’t have much money,” said the guardian. “It was a tough life. They gathered feathers from seabirds and sent them over to the mainland. They were paid for that, but it was hard work.”
“And seabirds’ eggs?” asked Poppy. “We heard they climbed up the cliffs for those.”
The guardian nodded. “They climbed up, or were lowered from the top on ropes.”
He showed them a picture of a boy of about their age dangling on the end of a rope. Far below him, churning white and angry around the rocks, was the sea.
Then the guardian got up and opened a cupboard at the back of the room. “This is something you might like to see,” he said. “It was sent to us by the grandson of one of the people who left the island all those years ago. It was his grandfather’s diary, and he wanted it to be looked after in the museum here. He was a fisherman.”
They gathered round the guardian as he opened a well-worn old journal. The pages inside were discoloured and brittle, but the writing was still clear.
“He described the fishing trips that he made,” said the guardian. “He used to go over and work on one of the fishing boats on the mainland. He would be away for months at a time before coming home to St Kilda for the winter.”
He turned a page. “Here’s an interesting entry,” he said. “He’s writing about fishing in Loch Sunart. Do you know where that is?”
They all nodded, as this sea loch was not far from the Tobermory’s base on the island of Mull. Ben and Fee had been there too in the family submarine many times. “What happened there?” Ben asked.
The guardian peered at the page. “He said that they sailed up the loch and then went through some narrows into another stretch of water. He said they were fishing there, in shallow water, when their nets got caught up in something on the sea-bed. He was a strong swimmer, this man, and a good diver too, so he went down to see if he could see what had snagged them.”
They were listening intently. “And did he discover what it was?” asked Fee.
The guardian turned a page. “Yes,” he said. “And he drew a picture of what he saw. Look, here it is.”
Everyone craned their necks to get a good view. The drawing was not large, but it had been done with some skill. There was the bottom of the loch, and there was the net trailing down from above. And there was the obstruction that had snared the net.
Rory drew in his breath. “It looks like …” he said.
“Yes,” said the guardian. “It does, doesn’t it? A Viking ship.”
For a moment nobody said anything. Then Ben asked, “Were the Vikings in Scotland?”
The guardian seemed surprised by the question. “They certainly were,” he said. “Many hundreds of years ago, of course, but they were here. They came over from Scandinavia in their longboats. People were terrified of them.”
“But that one sank?” asked Rory.
“Yes,” said the guardian. “I have no idea what happened, but something obviously went wrong.”
Ben leaned forward to examine the drawing more carefully. “Do you think it’s still there?” he asked.
The guardian shrugged. “The fisherman doesn’t say exactly where he found the wreck,” he said. “All he said was that it was near a place where a river flowed into the loch. And that there was a waterfall further up the river, whose water was very dark because of all the peat soil around there. That’s all.”
The guardian hesitated. “Mind you,” he said. “He did another drawing – it’s on the next page. This time he drew it looking from the deck of the fishing boat. I showed it to another young lad from your crew just a few minutes ago.”
Ben stared at the intricate pencil drawing that the fisherman had made. It was of a view from the water, looking towards the shore. There was an outcrop of rocks, a small hill, and a steep slope beyond that. A river entered the loch next to a little beach, where the water spread out into a tiny estuary.
“Would you mind if I made a copy of that sketch?” asked Ben. He had with him the notebook and pencil he always carried when he went ashore, and so, as the guardian showed everybody else some other items in the collection, Ben made a copy of the drawing on a page torn out from his notebook.
The guardian put the old diary away and spent the next half hour showing the group some of the old agricultural tools stored in the museum. There was a rake and a set of sheep-shears, a butter churn and the blade of a scythe which had been used to cut hay.
“We have to be careful about the time,” said Poppy, glancing at her watch. “We have to be down at the pier in time for the boat.”
They thanked the guardian and made their way back to the pier. Ben was deep in thought, and as they reached the pier he asked Poppy what the Vikings might have carried in their longboats.
Poppy said she thought they would have loaded the supplies they would need. “Food and weapons. Fur blankets against the cold. All that sort of thing.”
“And treasure?” asked Ben.
“Perhaps,” said Poppy. “They used to go off and steal people’s valuable property. Gold plates, perhaps. Silver ornaments from churches and monasteries. They stole all that kind of stuff.”
Ben said nothing for a few moments. Then he said, “If there is treasure, I wonder if it’s still there?”
“Where?” asked Poppy.
“On the wreck of that longboat,” Ben replied.
Poppy smiled. “Do you fancy yourself as a treasure-hunter, Ben?” she asked.
Rory had overheard Ben’s question. “Yes,” he said. “I think Ben could be right. There might be Viking treasure there – even now.”
“Maybe,” said Poppy. “But maybe not. Who knows?” She grinned at the two boys. “Anyway, we’re not going anywhere near there.”
Rory shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Poppy,” he said. “I was talking to Mr Rigger and he told me that after we leave here, we’re going back to Mull. Perhaps we could sail across to Loch Sunart and look for the wreck.”
Ben looked thoughtful for a moment. “I want to look at the charts,” he said.
“Ask Mr Rigger, then,” said Poppy. “He’ll show you.”
Once back on board, Ben asked to see the nautical charts, which showed in detail the coastline, the islands and the depth of the water. Mr Rigger accompanied him to the Captain’s cabin. Captain Macbeth was not in, but Mr Rigger knew where the charts were kept. He took a folder out of a drawer, and after selecting one of the maps, laid it out on the Captain’s table and pointed out to Ben where they were – on the small circle of green that was St Kilda – and where they were going next.
“We’ll sail back the w
ay we’ve come, and past the top of Mull towards Tobermory,” said Mr Rigger, tracing a line with his fingertip. “Now, where was it you thought we should go? Loch Sunart, was it? That’s the mouth of Loch Sunart there. There’s a good anchorage beside this little island here.”
He pointed to a small island lying just off the mainland, not far beyond the entrance to the loch. Ben studied the chart carefully. The old fisherman’s diary had said that the longboat was in a smaller stretch of water, off the main part of the loch. The position on the chart where Mr Rigger was now pointing – the place where he said they could anchor – was very close to the entrance to a smaller body of water. Ben’s gaze moved across the chart, taking in the details of what was marked on the adjoining shore. At first he did not notice it, but then he looked again, and what he saw made him draw in his breath sharply.
“A waterfall,” he whispered.
“What was that?” asked Mr Rigger.
“I said: a waterfall.” Ben pointed at the place on the chart near the place where a river joined the sea loch. Just a short distance inland was a waterfall, noted in small print.
Mr Rigger glanced at the chart. “There are plenty of those,” he observed. “When we sail close to the coast there, you’ll see waterfalls on the sides of all those mountains.”
“I know that, Mr Rigger,” said Ben. “But this one’s special.”
Mr Rigger raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see anything special about it.”
Ben explained what he had been told about the fisherman’s journal. He wondered whether Mr Rigger would laugh at him – it seemed such an unlikely story – but the teacher listened carefully as Ben spoke.
When Ben finished, Mr Rigger stroked his chin pensively before saying anything. “That’s a very interesting story, MacTavish,” he said eventually. “You know, I’ve heard stories about Viking longboats in these parts. I’ve never seen any wrecks, though.”
Ben was pleased that Mr Rigger was taking him seriously. “Do you think it might still be there?” he asked.
Mr Rigger shrugged. “It’s possible.” Then he frowned. “However, it would be difficult to pinpoint the exact place.”
Ben reached into his pocket, and took out the copy he had made of the fisherman’s sketch. “He drew this,” he said. “This was the view from where they found the longboat.”
Mr Rigger examined the piece of paper. “This is a precise copy?” he asked.
Ben nodded. He prided himself on his accurate drawing. “I tried to make it exactly the same,” he said.
Mr Rigger was impressed. “That should make it easy enough to work out where the wreck is,” he said. “There are reference points here.” He pointed to the outcrop of rocks on the shore, then to the small hill and the mouth of the river.
Ben agreed. “Do you think that we could take a look on the way back to Mull?” he asked.
Mr Rigger thought for a moment. “For my part, I don’t see why not. I’ll have a word with Captain Macbeth and suggest that we stop off there. I won’t say anything about treasure though – the fewer people who know about this the better,” he said.
“It would be amazing if we found a sunken Viking longboat,” said Ben eagerly. “Particularly if there was treasure on board.”
Mr Rigger laughed. “Steady on, MacTavish,” he advised. “Don’t get carried away. Plenty of people think they know where to find treasure: Spanish galleons and so on. But very few – in fact hardly any – ever find anything.”
“I know,” said Ben. “But it’s still worth trying, isn’t it?”
Mr Rigger hesitated for a moment. Then he smiled and gave his answer. “Yes, why not? If nobody ever tried to do anything, nothing would ever get done, would it?” Always give it a try – that’s what I say.”
“Well, I say that too, Mr Rigger,” said Ben. “And thank you!”
“But don’t raise your hopes too high,” said Mr Rigger. “There are plenty of things that can go wrong at sea, you know. You can never be sure of anything.”
Ben told him that he also understood that. But for the moment, he was far too excited to think about warnings of any sort, and he rushed off to tell his friends that they might soon be on a real hunt for Viking treasure.
Dog overboard
They spent the night at anchor in Village Bay. At breakfast the next morning, Captain Macbeth addressed the whole school. As he stood up to speak, he looked anxious, and people wondered if they were about to hear bad news.
“I had hoped that we would be able to stay here a bit longer,” he said. “Unfortunately, the weather forecast is not at all good. A front is coming from the west and we’re due to have some unsettled weather. So we’ll be heading back towards Mull at ten o’clock this morning.”
This was disappointing news. Although they had seen a bit of Hirta, there was still a lot to explore. Now that would have to wait until the Tobermory had an opportunity to come back to St Kilda – and that might not be for many months, or even years.
Ben did not mind, though. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they got going, the sooner they would be able to look for the Viking longboat.
“That’s great news,” he whispered to Thomas.
“But what if there’s a storm?” asked Thomas. “It could be a very rough crossing.”
“We’ll survive,” said Ben. “We’ve sailed through storms before,” he added.
Thomas made a face. “I get seasick if it’s too rough.” He looked down at his empty plate. “I wish I hadn’t eaten such a big breakfast.”
“We might make anchorage before the storm breaks,” Ben reassured him. “And if the wind is in the right direction – which it might well be – then we’ll get across the Minch all the quicker.”
Outside, it was hard to imagine that bad weather was on the way. The sky was clear – at least it was clear of clouds, even if it was filled with swirling flocks of seabirds. The sun was on the water, touching it with gold. It was a fine day, and as the Tobermory nudged her way out of the bay, the whole school lined the railings to watch the islands slip past.
Soon they approached the steep rock stacks that stood towering out of the water like sentries guarding the main island from the open sea. They were almost vertical, but here and there were small patches of grass – tiny slanted areas of grazing for the sheep who had made their home in these unlikely places.
“Are those really sheep?” asked Poppy, as the Tobermory neared one of the stacks.
Fee peered at the little shapes on the patches of green. It seemed so unlikely that anything could survive in such a barren, unwelcoming place, but as she stared at them, one of them moved, jumping from one patch of grass to another.
She became aware that Miss Worsfold was standing beside her. The teacher had trained her binoculars on the sheep and now offered them to Fee.
“Take a look,” said Miss Worsfold.
Fee focused on the rock, and shivered. It seemed like the loneliest, most dangerous place she had ever seen, and yet those were … yes, they were sheep.
“These are the descendants of the sheep the islanders left behind when they went away all those years ago,” said Miss Worsfold.
Poppy shook her head in astonishment. She was used to lonely places in the Australian outback, but this column of rock, this sharply rising vertical island, seemed to her to be the most desolate place she had ever seen.
The Captain was at the helm. Because the Tobermory was still moving under the power of her engines, he was able to approach the stack so that everybody could get a better view. The waves, though, were beginning to get a little bigger, and he was being careful not to get too close. Even so, everybody now had a good view of the stack, of the sheep, and also of a small colony of seals on the rocks at its base.
Everybody, that is, including Henry. The dog had taken up his position at the railings, just like the rest of the ship’s company. He gave a loud bark of excitement.
“Look at Henry,” said Poppy. “He’s just seen the seals.”
“That seal’s trying to say something to Henry,” she said. “Listen, there it goes again.”
Henry replied, barking back in excitement.
“He must think it’s another dog,” said Ben. “I wonder if …”
But he had no time to finish what he was saying, and shouted out in astonishment as Henry, quite without warning, suddenly slipped through the railings and dived headlong into the water.
“Dog overboard!” somebody else shouted from the railing. “Captain, Captain! Dog overboard!”
From where he was standing at the helm, Captain Macbeth saw what had happened and immediately gave the order to turn off the ship’s engines.
For anybody to fall overboard is a very serious situation, and the same applies to a dog too. Not that Henry seemed to think so, as his head soon appeared above the surface of the water and he started to paddle towards the rocks to join the seals.
Mr Rigger was at Captain Macbeth’s side, and he now gave the order for a lifeboat to be launched. “Lower Number One Boat!” he shouted as he ran across the deck to the closest lifeboat station.
This was not far from where Poppy and Ben were standing, and they were picked by Mr Rigger to join the rescue party – as was somebody else who had been standing nearby and unnoticed by Ben. That person was Badger.
Ben glanced at Badger as they clambered into the boat, ready to take their places at the oars. The other boy averted his eyes and concentrated on slotting an oar into the rowlock.
“I’ll sit on this side,” said Ben. “You take that place, Badger.”
The Secret of the Dark Waterfall Page 5
