156 THE HOME OF A NATURALIST. 



One midsummer evening, a westerly squall arose 

 which sent the fishing-boats flying to the shelter of 

 their voes and wicks. Those storms rise and fall with 

 tropical rapidity and violence. Six hours after it was 

 at its height, the wind had fallen to an ordinary 

 fresh breeze, the sky was smiling as before, and only 

 the wrathful surf, rolling white and broken under the 

 influence of a changing tide, remained to tell of the 

 tempest. All the boats had returned in safety, and 

 there should have been rejoicing in Unst ; but instead, 

 men frowned and women trembled, for the fishers had 

 brought news that the Denschman was on the coast ; 

 his well-known sail had been seen hovering beyond 

 the holms of Gloup; he was coming upon the wings 

 of the westerly wind ; he would be on the Westing 

 Bicht ere long. There was no landing-place available 

 — with such a heavy sea — on that side of the island ; 

 but the Denschman knew what he was about, doubt- 

 less. He would scud to the nor'ard, fly round the 

 Flugga skerries and Skau, would lay-to, and bide his 

 time till dusk drew down; then he would alight on 

 the eastern shore, and work his wild will upon the 

 defenceless isle. Such had been his tactics aforetime. 

 The people ran to the high lands of Vaalafiel and Pet- 

 ester to mark the Denschman's course, for where he 

 meant to land, there they must not be. 



Soon the Urne was descried emerging from a mist of 

 spindrift, and bearing swiftly towards Unst, heading 

 straight for the isle, and not — as the folk had supposed 

 — skirting the coast. Did the vikinger mean to bring 



