‘I would not say but he’s sprung a leak, or the like,’ said an old udaller among the onlookers. ‘Who but a madman would bring a ship in-shore like yon, if all was taut aboard!’ ‘That is so,’ remarked a seaman. ‘Without doubt, he’s in straits; and he’s going to try to beach on the Aire of Widwick. It’s his only chance, and a poor one.’ ‘Pray the powers he may not make the Aire,’ replied the old man; ‘and I’m thinking,’ he added, ‘that the powers will hear us. There is something fatal amiss with that evil one. See yon! He’s not obeying his helm; he’s just driving with wind and tide. He’s in a mighty strait, praise the Lord!’ ‘If he misses the Aire, he’ll go in _shallmillens_ [the fragments of eggshell] upon the baas of Flübersgerdie,’ said a fisherman, with a grim smile; and all cried out: ‘Pray the powers it may be so!’ As if the powers thus invoked were ready to prove their immediate willingness to answer the cry of the oppressed, the wind veered more to the west, and carried the disabled ship against the holm of Widwick, a small islet which lies off the creek, and wards from it the full force of the North Atlantic. If the _Erne_ had stranded on the holm, some of his crew might have effected a landing there; but that was not the end of the viking’s barque; she reeled back from the holm with a gash in her side that was a death-wound indeed, and drifted onwards once more. Now, would she gain the creek? No! In a few moments the _Erne_ was carried past the little harbour, where lay the sole chance of deliverance, and then crashed among the rocks of Flübersgerdie. ‘Praise to the powers that are above all!’ cried the men of Unst, and even gentle-hearted women rejoiced as the Denschman, barque and crew, disappeared among the breakers. The people returned to their homes, happy in the thought that the rocks of Fatherland had proved able protectors, and that Unst was for ever rid of its most dreaded foe. * * * * * Two days and two nights passed. No trace of the storm was left. A boat put off from Widwick with the intention of saving such portions of the _Erne_ as would certainly be drifting among the skerries near Flübersgerdie. The men could tell by the state of the tides and the wind exactly where the wreckage was to be found, and they made for the spot, never doubting that some spoil would be there to reward them. As they approached the submerged reef where the _Erne_ finished her career, the skipper, alluding to the dreaded Denschman, said: ‘Well did he deserve what he met here! Think our isle would give him foothold!—our isle, that he has harried this ten year and more! No, no!’ Scarcely were the words spoken, when one of the fishermen called out excitedly: ‘Lord be about us, men, what’s yon?’—and he pointed to a cave situated in the cliff opposite the reef.