Skaill Vic is a large, sheltered inlet of the sea. I have heard
that in ancient times it was a meeting place of the Norse vikings,
and it is just such a place as a pirate might choose to make his
headquarters, being a convenient station from which he could ravage
the adjacent shores of Scotland, or sail over to Norway, or even
north to Iceland, and safely return to its secluded shelter, to
store his treasure in the dark caverns of the rugged cliffs. I may
here remind you that Pomona Island was, long ago, the holy land of
the Northman, and that the cairns and cromlechs scattered over our
hills and plains are to this day associated with the visits of the
old viking buccaneers. Andrew Drever, who was exceedingly well
versed in the antique lore of the Orkneys, once told us in school
of a Runic inscription he had seen in the Maes Howe at Stenness. It
was interpreted to the effect that one of the old vikings "had
found much fee in Orkhow," and that this treasure had been buried
"to the northwest."

"Happy is he," the legend continued--"Happy is he who may discover
this great wealth."

But, of course, no person had ever found trace of it, and Mr.
Drever supposed that it must have been swept away by the furious
storms that, in wintertime, dash continually against the rocky ribs
of the Orcadian coasts.

We got down by a pathway to the sloping beach, which the tide had
left bare. At the point where we hoped to find some seals, we
observed several men and women gathering seaweed, preparatory to