ils were run up, and I fell to sleep
again before we had got out beyond the shelter of the coast.

When I got up in the morning and went on deck, the island of Hoy
lay far to windward like a bank of mist upon the sea. We were far
out on the broad Pentland Firth, plunging about on the rough water,
with our mainsail double-reefed, and the flying jib pulling away
like to split itself in the wind. I enjoyed it all for a time; but
when I went below to help Jerry to get ready some breakfast for the
skipper, the smell of the coffee and the frying bacon overcame me,
and I was forced to go back to my bunk, where I remained for the
rest of the day helplessly seasick.

The next morning, feeling better, I went up to get a breath of
fresh air, and found that we were hemmed in by a thick white mist
that crept round us, and rendered it difficult for Jerry, who was
on the lookout at the bow, to determine our course. We were making
for South Ronaldsay, and had been beating about all night, making
very little headway; and when the mist lifted before noon, it was
discovered that we had been driven down by the current, and had
come nigh to running into the black rocks of Stroma Island.

Here, where two strong streams met with terrific force, the
turbulent water whirled about with wild irregular motion, and we
were swept now one way, now another, until it seemed useless to
fight against the current that controlled us. We were, in fact, in
the midst of that dangerous vortex locally known as the Swelkie.
Those who know the secrets of the ocean currents of the northern
seas have their own scientific explanations to give; but our native
boatmen and sailors, who were not so well acquainted with the
eccentricities of the Gulf stream as with the popular legends of
Orkney, accounted for the Swelkie in this way:

A certain King Frodi had a magical quern, or hand mill, called
Grotti; the largest quern ever known in Denmark. Now Grotti, which
ground either gold or peace for King Frodi as he willed, was stolen
by a sea king named Mysing, who set the mill to grind white salt
for his ships. But it happened that Mysing had only learned the
spell to set the mill going, and knew not how to stop it. His
ships, therefore, became so full of salt that they sank, and Grotti
with them, before they could reach the islands of Orkney; hence the
Swelkie. This took place to the northwest of Stroma Island, and
ever since the sea there has not rested, for as the wa